


Far Away From Me

by cosmisce



Series: All I Want [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidents, Angst, Character Study, Coming of Age, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27411793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmisce/pseuds/cosmisce
Summary: For his entire life, Nishinoya Yuu has seen life as his to shape. But in his third year of high school, this notion is suddenly threatened.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Nishinoya Yuu & Karasuno Volleyball Club, Nishinoya Yuu & Tanaka Ryuunosuke
Series: All I Want [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966102
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	1. The Good Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, there! I wanted to post this fic tonight just because I'm sure there's a lot of angst about the election, and we could all use a distraction. This is my first multi-chapter fic; I'm a little nervous about it, but. I hope to update this at least once a week, but I'll put them out as soon as I'm done. Also this chapter is so short it's painful. Ugh, in any case I hope this isn't too bad. I'll try to get the quality and word count up in the future, which probably means reducing the number of chapters so the pacing isn't so torturous. 
> 
> This is part of the "All I Want" collection, and takes before the events of "All I Want." Although they are in the same universe, this is still a stand-alone piece. It doesn't particularly matter, I believe, which order you read them in...but "All I Want" does have spoilers for what occurs later on in the story (although, again, I don't believe that this worsens the experience of reading).
> 
> Hope you're all doing well. Enjoy :)

“Are you alright, Nishinoya?”

The moonlight is burgeoning, and the inside of the car is plunged into a soft, cool light. Asahi had posed the question absently, face turned from him to mind the road. But from the sound of his voice Nishinoya catches the faintest hint of alarm, the impossible, helpless desire to stop the car and confirm his safety for himself. 

Nishinoya had been feeling strange since this morning, when he’d botched a disturbing number of receives at practice and tripped a couple times during their morning run, to the endless amusement of Shouyou and Ryuu. He had also been admonished thrice for falling asleep during the third year’s graduation ceremony. But he had not thought much of it until their graduation party later, where he’d nearly passed out while heading to the restroom. He had then been cornered by Daichi who, upon confirming that he had a high temperature, ignored his objections and called on Asahi to prepare his car. 

“I’m fine, Asahi!” Nishinoya says, his voice light. “Don’t worry about me.” He shudders and pulls up the hood of his hoodie, burying his nose inside the fabric. There is a persistent feeling, here, close to the chest. He clenches and then unclenches his fist. 

“I’m sorry, Asahi,” Nishinoya mumbles. “You should be at your graduation party. You shouldn’t need to do this.”

“I don’t mind,” Asahi says, and meets his eyes through the car mirror. “I’m the only one who has a driver’s license, and...oh, honestly. Team parties stress me out sometimes. This is a pleasant interlude.” 

Nishinoya grunts in response, resting his face deeper into the car seat. It is cool against his flushed forehead. He closes his eyes, suddenly conscious of a strange tension in the air. 

“Where to, Nishinoya?” Asahi interrupts his thoughts. 

“Oh. Uh...” Nishinoya traces the route from Asahi to his house in his mind. “Left.” He says it in an uncertain voice. Asahi turns the car, turning them onto a street Nishinoya has never seen before. 

“Asahi, I’m sorry,” Nishinoya says, lifting his head from the car seat. “You graduated today. You should be at the party, not here, not—”

“I said it was alright,” Asahi offers him a reassuring smile through the car mirror. “And you already said that.”

Nishinoya hesitates. “I did?” 

“Yes, less than a minute ago,” Asahi says, and lets out a fond laugh. 

“Christ. I’m far gone, aren’t I. Maybe Daichi was right.” 

“He definitely was.” Asahi falls silent. Nishinoya closes his eyes, sleep pressing itself deep under his eyelids. Here, far from the team, far from home, he feels completely empty. As if someone had siphoned him out of himself, and he’s lying here, in a body that isn’t his, in a mind that doesn’t understand him anymore.

He’s startled from his thoughts by a persistent sound from the front of the car, a breathy sputter that stirs him from slumber. “What’s that?” 

Asahi is silent for a moment, lost in his thoughts, before he processes Nishinoya’s words and curses. “Oh. Uh—oh no, damn it.” He brings the car to the side of the road, where he opens the car door and opens the hood. 

It’s probably not important, Nishinoya says to himself, and closes his eyes.

“Nishinoya, uh...” 

Nishinoya groans and grunts in response. “What?”

“The engine...it, uh...” He can almost see Asahi, then, though his eyes are closed: the bitten lip, the eyes which stare at the floor. The strand of hair that has fallen out of his bun. He wonders what this means: that the image is so clear, etched into his irises. Indelible. 

“I can handle it, Asahi,” Nishinoya says. “Doesn’t matter what it is. It’s alright.”

“Oh, uh, alright then...” Asahi says. He inhales. Nishinoya feels it somewhere in his chest. “We’re out of gas.” 

Nishinoya’s eyes shoot open. Time stops. He hadn’t been prepared for this: their gas running out, instead of a potential Mafia heist, or incoming meteor. This is what he couldn’t foresee.

“Oh.” Nishinoya can’t manage anything else. He shudders into his hoodie, suddenly feeling cold. 

“Are you cold?” Asahi’s voice cuts through the air again. His head aches.

“Oh no, I’m fine, really...” Nishinoya says, but Asahi is already opening the door and pushing himself inside. 

“I just reached out to Daichi. He’ll be here in a couple minutes to drive you home,” Asahi says, and mumbles, in embarrassment, “and bring me some gas.” He hesitates before putting a hand to Nishinoya’s forehead. He grimaces at the heat radiating from it. 

“Here,” he says. reaching into the passenger seat to get a large, wool-lined trucker jacket. He places it around Nishinoya’s shoulders and presses it close to his body. 

He is so close, Nishinoya says to himself. His face is rough, stubble digging itself into his flesh, and cut by lines of worry and hesitation, but his eyes are impossibly warm, and so soft it aches. 

Before Nishinoya can stop himself, he is reaching out and pulling Asahi into him by the collar. 

“Wh—”

“Don’t speak,” Nishinoya says, and then presses his lips against Asahi’s. 

The kiss is chaste at first, a little uncertain, before Asahi deepens it. He puts a hand around Nishinoya’s waist. 

Nishinoya lets out a sigh of pleasure and fists his hand into Asahi’s hair, undoing it from its tie. Nishinoya thumbs his hair line for a couple, contemplative seconds, before straddling him. 

“There you are, Asahi, Nishinoya.” Nishinoya registers a voice in the distance but ignores it. “Asahi, where are we? Nishinoya’s place can’t possibly be this far out...” 

Before Nishinoya can react, he is thrust from Asahi and onto the car seat. His shoulder slams into the car door. 

“Fuck, damn it, _ow—”_ Nishinoya begins, before he sees Asahi hastily tying up his hair and running a hand across his lips. His movements are frantic, trembling. 

“Guys?” Daichi opens the car door. He peers at them, confused, for a moment, before his eyes widen in an emotion approaching clarity. “What—”

“Hey there, Daichi,” Asahi says, voice high-pitched. “I was just offering Nishinoya my coat. He seemed cold.”

Liar, Nishinoya wants to say. What really happened was this...

The weight of it barrels into him, then. He feels ill.

“I see,” Daichi says. Hesitating for a moment, as if not sure where to place his body, he reaches into the car to place a hand around Nishinoya’s wrist. 

“Well, come on,” he says. “I’ll get you home.” 

Nishinoya trails behind him, the nauseous feeling holding in his stomach. Don’t look back. 

Stealing deeper into the night, Nishinoya abandons the night to memory. 

\---

Practice resumes as normal. Nishinoya uses it to distract himself, often keeping Ryuu late into the night. The ace and the libero must be connected at all times, which is what Nishinoya feels to Ryuu regardless.

But there is a smell which still lingers in the morning, familiar and unbearably nostalgic. Nishinoya wants to sever his nose. 

“Nishinoya, get your head out of your ass!” Ukai calls, and glares at him from on the top the table where he serves. “You should be getting these.” 

“Are you feeling alright, Nishinoya?” Ennoshita glances at him. 

Heat colors Nishinoya’s face, and he lets out a frustrated breath. 

“I’m fine,” Nishinoya says to him, before he turns to their coach and crouches into position. “Sorry! I’ll get the next one, promise!”

Ukai stops to study him for a moment. Nishinoya stands taller under his scrutiny. 

He has been deflecting the Coach’s pointed questions since the summer, who has not missed his declining performance on the court. Nishinoya has been distracted at practice, to be fair: unwanted thoughts steal into his brain at inopportune moments, occluding his vision. It is the first time his instinct fails him. 

_This isn’t a part of the plan._ He circles around this thought, despite his attempts to outrun it. 

The hardest part is keeping it from Ryuu. The act feels alien to Nishinoya, almost profane; but this is delicate to a degree Nishinoya hasn’t encountered before. He scours his memory, recalling moments at the hot springs and lingering glances on the court, where he had caught himself admiring the shape of Chikara’s thighs or staring at Suga as he changed into his practice gear in the morning. He recalls falling asleep on Ryuu’s bed after an extended study session, finding his friend’s arm resting casually on his waist. 

“Heads up!” Nishinoya returns his attention to the court. Before he can react, the ball slams into his face. Pain shoots through his body, his entire face stinging. He falls onto his knees. The pain felt moments before is replaced by a layer of intense, painful bleariness, white spots dancing in front of his eyes. Before he can careen to the side, strong arms envelop him, keeping him upright. 

While he can barely register the voices around him, he has enough sense to wince at their alarm. He groans, placing a hand on the arm supporting him.

“Ugh... _shit...”_ he mumbles. Opening his eyes, he sees Ryuu staring at him in concern. 

“You alright, dude?” Ryuu says. His eyes are widened in surprise.

Nishinoya struggles to articulate any words. He places a steadying hand on the floor, using the entirety of his determination to stop his arm from trembling. In a strained, stilted effort, he pushes himself from Ryuu and into a sitting position. 

“Nishinoya, where are you?” He hears the Coach from his right.

“Gym. Listen, I’m fine, really,” Nishinoya says, keeping his voice steady. The feeling of light-headedness has passed. He lets out a laugh. It grates at his throat. “I can still—”

“No,” Chikara says. “Nishinoya, nurse. Go.” A pause, before: “Tanaka, you bring him. And don’t let him bribe you this time to get out of it.”

“That was one time!” Ryuu insists, before he sighs and places a hand on Nishinoya’s shoulder. “Come on, dude. Let’s go. You can stand, right?” 

“Of course I can stand, _mom,”_ Nishinoya snaps, and climbs onto his feet. The world spins for a moment. He ignores this to punch Ryuu in the shoulder. “See you guys.” 

The team mumbles their replies as they head out from the gymnasium, changing their shoes at the door as they return to school. Nishinoya steadfastly ignores the glances which Ryuu steals at him, eyes pasted to the ground. 

“Noya...” Nishinoya steels himself for the question. “You alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Nishinoya rubs his eyes. “Lay off a little, alright?” The words are more bitter than he means them.

“Sure, fine,” Ryuu says. “But Coach is right. You’ve been really out of it lately, man.” 

Nishinoya can’t deny this. He breathes out through his nose, the pain returning at full force. His entire body aches.

“I’m fine, Ryuu,” he says. “Come on! Maybe if we’re done early, we can return to practice before they start cleaning up.” 

“Yeah.” Ryuu continues ahead of him. After a couple seconds of strained silence, Ryuu starts to speak, rambling about the girl who sits in front of him in class. Nishinoya tries to listen, but the sounds merge into a deep, distorted hum. He remembers the first time he met Ryuu: in the home room of his first-year class, whose scary face he’d immediately felt uneasy about. While Ryuu had also initially distrusted him, after cooperating during a practice match they’d become fast friends— _best_ friends, he reminds himself, by the end of the year. 

Here Ryuu is, this person he knows in his bones. Nishinoya punches him in the shoulder, his voice incredibly full. 

“Let me buy you a soda popsicle today,” Nishinoya says. “I’m sorry.”

“Noya, what are you sorry for? Do you...”

“I can get to the nurse from here,” Nishinoya says. “Let me go. You should practice.” 

Ryuu studies him, and for the first time suspicion glints in his eyes. Only for a moment; so subtle Nishinoya barely catches it. 

“Sounds good,” Ryuu says, conceding to him. “Bye, Noya. Don’t leave without me.” He turns. Nishinoya continues alone.

The apology had slipped out subconsciously. Staring at the clouds, Nishinoya can’t help but damn them for this freedom they hadn’t fought for, but still had. Floating around the world, not needing reason nor permission nor respite. Standing at a precipice he can’t name, he wishes there was someone to forgive him. 

\---

“Alright, do your best!” 

Nishinoya stares at the diagnostic test in front of him. Summer had passed as usual, disappearing in the school’s gymnasium and nights at Ryuu’s, honing their Super Smash Bros abilities. School came suddenly, and much too soon, but he much prefers it to spending time at his house.

After successfully determining he understands none of the kanji, Nishinoya writes in random responses before turning the test onto its flipside to doodle. 

He and Asahi have not been in touch since the kiss. Nishinoya sketches his face in angular lines. This isn’t unusual: while they had the other’s number, there had never been a reason to use them: they had spent most of their time in close propinquity as members of the same team. Aside from his month of suspension, Nishinoya rarely felt far from Asahi in those days: as if, through some sublime force, Asahi was invariably near. 

He scratches in the stubble, then using large flourishes for the man bun. He spends time on each strand, tongue escaping his lips. 

God, he could spend all day sketching Asahi. Not reaching out. Just remembering him. Here, he wants to listen to the song which is Asahi’s soul play itself out into his ears. He could spend his entire life silent, so as not to miss a sound. 

“Time is up!” 

Nishinoya startles, pen stilling on Asahi’s hair. He flips the test onto its front and puts his pencil to the side. 

“Nishinoya, lunch!” He looks to the door to see Hisashi calling out to him. “Tanaka has a funny story to tell.” 

Nishinoya grins, anticipation thrumming in his chest. “Coming!” Handing his test to the person in front of him, he heads out to meet Hisashi at the door.


	2. Under Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is Chapter 2 -- I'm going to try and update around every four days, because the chapters aren't incredibly long (it was really hard to figure out a good way to divide the chapters up, and often resulted in less things happening in each chapter). Chapter 3 is almost done.

It is early May by the time the former third years return to the campus, adulthood already settling easily on their faces. 

“Nishinoya!” Suga says, opening up his arms as Nishinoya rushes to greet him. Nishinoya hurtles into the embrace. “Are you being a good upperclassman this year?” 

“Of course!” Nishinoya says, pushing himself from Suga to cross his arms across his chest. “I’m training the first-year libero, too...” He trails off, raising a hand. “Hey, Haru! Over here!”

A small boy—taller than Nishinoya, though this wasn’t an accomplishment — raises his head. He is standing in shy silence among the rest of the first years, not quite sure where to put himself. 

“This is my little protégé,” Nishinoya says as Haru approaches. Haru flushes at the words and rubs at his head.

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Haru, this is Suga-san. He used to be a setter here at Karasuno,” Nishinoya says, putting an arm on Haru’s shoulder. Suga smiles at him and extends a hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Suga says. “Nishinoya calling you his protégé is the highest praise you can get around here. You must be incredible at receives.” 

“Only over hand,” Haruto says. “I’m Nakamura Haruto, by the way. But all my close friends call me Haru, and, uh, Nishinoya too, I—”

“Asahi, come say hi!” Suga calls out, interrupting him. Nishinoya tenses. He locates Asahi on the far side of the gym, standing by Ryuu, Daichi, and Chikara. 

Their eyes meet. 

“Asahi!” Suga calls again, cupping his hands. Nishinoya can feel Asahi’s reluctance to join them from here: the thought bubbles in his chest, heavy and bitter. He releases his hold on Haru, escaping to join Ryuu.

“Wait, Nishinoya....”

“Ryuu, hit some of my tosses?” Nishinoya calls out loudly. “Interhigh waits for no man!” 

Ryuu looks at him from across the gym. “Oh, yeah.” He turns to Daichi. “Alright, see you around. Want to get some meat buns after practice?”

“Yeah, I can meet you at the convenience store.” Daichi slaps Ryuu on the shoulder, before turning to Nishinoya and eyeing him curiously. “Nishinoya, you come too. We should catch up.” He is searching for some sign in Nishinoya’s eyes. Nishinoya maintains his cheerful smile and betrays nothing.

“Sure thing!” Nishinoya says, before he puts his arms around Ryuu and pushes him onto the court. “Come on, ace. Let’s go.” Ryuu lets out his obligatory groans, then falling silent before he leans in, lips close to Nishinoya’s ear. 

“I know you’re avoiding Asahi, by the way,” he says. Nishinoya stops where he is, face hardening. 

“I’m....” Nishinoya struggles to get the words out. “Ryuu, I’m not...” 

This is the first time he has lied to Ryuu, Nishinoya realises. He hasn’t ever lied to Ryuu before; not even white lies. Nishinoya looks at Ryuu, hesitantly, to see if he had noticed. He is met by a stunned, betrayed expression. 

“Alright, fine,” Nishinoya says harshly, before he bites his lip. “Ryuu, I’m sorry, I...”

“It’s fine,” Ryuu says hurriedly. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t...”

“I do,” Nishinoya interrupts him. He tightens his hold on Ryuu’s arm, hoping his friend can hear his desperation. “Want to tell you, that is. I just...” I can’t. 

“Want me to pass you some balls?” They turn to see Kiyoko, who is dressed in a loose t-shirt and jeans. Nishinoya doesn’t miss the speed at which Tanaka’s face brightens. 

“Yes, please!” Ryuu says. Nishinoya stifles a laugh.

“Thank you!” Nishinoya says, before he slaps Ryuu on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get in position.”

They get in position. The incident is not mentioned again.

\---

“Good job at practice, guys!” Chikara says. He is met by barely audible groans. “Start clearing out!”

“Noya, you’re gonna need to help me up,” Ryuu says. Nishinoya peers at his friend in curiosity, sighing out of pity at his friend’s clear fatigue. 

Nishinoya laughs, reaching to pull him into a standing position. He grunts at the pressure he’s putting on his legs, which are already trembling from the number of receives he has been put through today. While Nishinoya had boundless stamina, Chikara had become incredibly adept at finding Nishinoya’s limit and pushing it during each practice.

“Come on, big guy,” Nishinoya says, pushing him into the closet. “Let’s get the brooms.” He glances at the second years: besides Tsukishima, who had become much more crafty about hedging his effort, the rest of the second years also seem worn out. Even Shouyou and Kageyama, who had insisted on staying late after the rest of them last year, seemed content to call it a night. 

“Everyone is doing great!” Nishinoya says, pushing as much energy into his voice as possible as he extends his arms out. “We’re in great shape for the Interhigh this year.” The rest of the team grins at him. “Just a minute, Ryuu. Let me get some Salonpas.”

He settles himself on the closet’s floor, opening a bottle and extending his legs. As the adrenaline from practice started to wear off, his limbs are beginning to ache. They boast a disturbing collection of old and fresh bruises, ranging from blue to orange in color. He sprays some of the Salonpas onto his legs and starts to rub it in. 

“Pass the Salonpas, bro,” Ryuu says, settling at his side. 

“Shush, I’m not done yet.” He sprays some gratuitously onto his arms, massaging it in before he reaches under his shirt to put some on his hip.

“God, this is why you need a personal stash so there’s enough for the rest of us,” Ryuu says, and snatches the bottle from him. “Come on. We need to hurry up and clean so the meat buns don’t sell out.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nishinoya says. “I can start early.” 

“Actually, mind cleaning up by yourself, Tanaka?” 

They turn to see Takeda standing at the door. He is holding a piece of paper in his hand.

They are silent for a moment, before Ryuu says: “Yeah, sure. All good?” 

“Yeah,” Takeda says hurriedly. “I just need to speak to Nishinoya for a moment. In private.” Alarm bells set off in Nishinoya’s mind. Ryuu glances at him out of the corner of his eye in question. Nishinoya meets his eyes in similar confusion.

“Sounds good. See you, Noya,” Ryuu says, applying the last of the Salonpas onto his limbs before he takes the broom from Nishinoya and returns to the court. Noya and Takeda watch him leave, before Nishinoya clears his throat.

“What’s on your mind?” Nishinoya asks.

“Oh, nothing important...” Takeda stammers, before he says, gently, “Why don’t we speak outside?” Nishinoya nods, and they head out of the gym. An uneasy feeling deepens in Nishinoya’s gut. They stand by a part of the wall which is far from the entrance. 

“So, I...” Takeda fumbles, before falling silent. His face has only become more agitated since Ryuu left. Nishinoya wishes, suddenly, for his best friend to be beside him. Takeda bites his lip, before he reveals the paper in his hands.

Nishinoya sees his doodles of Asahi. His eyes widen.

“Sensei, I can—”

“You’re not in trouble,” Takeda says. Nishinoya stares at the ground, not meeting his eyes. 

Takeda sighs. “I don’t mean to overstep. I just wanted to...” Nishinoya’s entire body stiffens. “I don’t know, I’ve never been in this situation before, but I wanted to reassure you that I support you, and won’t tell anyone.”

Nishinoya remains silent. 

Takeda studies him for a moment, before he runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, I’m sorry for bringing it up, I just...”

“It was one kiss,” Nishinoya says. He keeps his face turned to the floor. His face is flushed. “It was after the third year’s graduation party, and I had a temperature, and Asahi drove me home, but he ran out of gas, and I was cold, so he came in to give me a coat, and then I...” He breathes in, not able to get enough air into his lungs. “I...”

He scrubs at his burning eyes, ignoring Takeda’s alarmed stammers. 

“This wasn’t a part of the plan,” he says at last. The words come out strangled, defeated. He has never said those words out loud before. Before he can speak, he feels a piece of paper being pressed into his hand. He lets out a startled noise and opens it. 

“Here’s my address,” Takeda says. His voice is calm and firm. “If you ever need a safe place to stay, or you don’t know where to turn...please come to me. I’m here.”

Nishinoya’s chest tightens. “Thank you, Takeda-sensei.” 

“I mean it.” 

Nishinoya nods. He then catches Ryuu signaling to him from the gym door. 

“You should head home and eat a good dinner,” Takeda says. 

“I’ll do that.” Nishinoya tightens his grip on the paper, reminding himself to put it somewhere safe. “Thanks again, Takeda-sensei.” He then joins Ryuu, whom he flashes a grin. 

“All good?” Ryuu asks. He prods Nishinoya in the temple. 

“Yeah...” Nishinoya says, not missing the slight concern in Ryuu’s eyes. “Dude. I got a 0 on my Diagnostics test.” Ryuu lets out a surprised laugh and slaps Nishinoya on the shoulder.

“No wonder Takeda looked worried to hell,” Ryuu says. 

Nishinoya agrees. Conversation turns from him to the video game Ryuu has just purchased, and the memories of his recent heart-to-heart are pushed far, far from mind.

\---

Nishinoya dips his feet into the bath. He submerges himself deeper into the water and lets out a sigh of contentment as his muscles loosen.

“This is it,” Nishinoya says. “This is the life, Ryuu.”

He opens an eye to see Ryuu still scrubbing himself on the stool, rubbing soap into his hair. He laughs.

“Come on, you can’t possibly be that dirty.”

“ After all those practice matches, I feel defiled,” Ryuu says, dousing himself in more water and rubbing the cloth across his limbs. Before Nishinoya can respond, they are joined in the onsen by the rest of the third years. 

“Please move, Vice Captain-san,” Chikara says, putting a hand on Ryuu’s shoulder. Ryuu obliges, abandoning his place at the stool to join Nishinoya in the water. 

“Don’t fall asleep this time,” Nishinoya warns, but smiles fondly at him. His eyes wander to Ennoshita on the stool, regarding him as he turns on the faucet and starts to flatten out his cloth.

“Come on bro, not all of us go to sleep at nine pm,” comes Ryuu’s retort. “In any case, why is Kenma more scary this year? I thought maybe...”

Nishinoya concentrates on the cloth as it brushes against Chikara’s leg, cleaning the toned muscles on his thigh before teasing his shins. He can’t help but admire the definition of his figure, built from the tireless hours he has devoted to practice, his shoulders broad, a perfect expanse...

Nishinoya doesn’t notice at first when Chikara stops to look at him, face stiffening.

“Uh, Nishinoya?” Chikara says, voice hesitant. “Can I help you?”

Nishinoya flinches, his eyes rising to meet his friend’s. A flush spreads across his face. 

“I. Uh.” 

“Were you—” Kazuhito says, before he stops himself. “No, nevermind.” Heat bleeds into Nishinoya’s ears. He realises that Ryuu is staring at him, lips parted mid-word. 

For the first time, Nishinoya wants to disappear.

“I...” Nishinoya clears his throat. “Sorry. I zoned out.”

Chikara squints at him, disbelief shining in his eyes. And then he turns from him, so subtly Nishinoya wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t staring. 

He feels terrible.

“You do seem pretty tired,” Chikara concedes, though his voice is strangely toneless. “Get some rest after this.”

Nishinoya can barely get his tongue to cooperate, before he says: “Sure thing.” 

The room is silent for a moment, steeped in a sudden tension. Nishinoya hates himself for putting it there. The pressure holds, about to rupture, before Hisashi falls off his stool.

The rest of them are silent, still, before Ryuu bursts into laughter.

“You alright, Kinoshita?” Chikara says, peering at his friend. 

“Yeah. The stool was just a little slippery.”

“Good.”

“Tanaka, you and Nishinoya are in charge of getting the second years to bathe,” Chikara says, still eluding Nishinoya’s eyes. “If that’s alright.”

“Sounds good,” Ryuu says, sobering for a moment. Nishinoya searches his face, for any sign of discomfort, for any indication that Ryuu had seen...but there is nothing. Nishinoya breathes a sigh of relief and settles deeper into the water.

\---

As soon as they head to the gym to round up the second years, Ryuu immediately launches into a story about the first years, who seem less a cohort and more a band of frightened children who had sought one another out to fend off the chaos of their upperclassmen. Nishinoya tries to pay attention but can’t help but rub his eyes; he’s usually in bed by this time, and the rigor of training camp hasn’t help his energy reserves.

“Man, I’m so psyched to play Nekoma again in the morning,” Ryuu says. His eyes glitter under the stars: shining of perfect contentment, the kind Nishinoya used to feel all the time. “Tora’s been ramping up the aggression on court, recently. His offense is scary these days.”

“Your offense is scary too,” Nishinoya says, pushing Ryuu’s shoulder in encouragement. 

Ryuu blushes at the praise. “I guess it’s getting better.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Nishinoya chastises him, raising his voice. “I’m your libero, after all. I see everything.” 

“I guess,” Ryuu says, and Nishinoya can already tell that Ryuu doesn’t believe him. Which hasn’t happened before, Nishinoya realises—or at least, it hasn’t happened since they became friends. 

Nishinoya wonders when it happened: when Ryuu had started to trust him a little less. He yawns as he ponders this, tears springing to his eyes.

Ryuu lets out a hiss of sympathy. “Better get to sleep soon, Noya,” Ryuu says, before a teasing smile emerges on his face. “Before you accidentally ogle any of the first years.” 

Nishinoya opens his eyes. His heart stills. 

“What did you say?” Nishinoya asks, his voice little more than a whisper. 

Ryuu glances at him. “I said to go to sleep early. You seem tired.” 

“No. Before that.” 

“Oh. Um....” Ryuu puts his hand to his chin, contemplating the question, before he shrugs his shoulders. “Can’t remember. Sorry.” 

Nishinoya stops in his steps, lips parting at the betrayal. Ryuu stops too upon noticing Nishinoya’s sudden pause, confusion blossoming on his face.

“It was a mistake,” Nishinoya says in a deep voice. “It was a fucking mistake...” He fists his hands, his entire body tensing. He meets Ryuu’s eyes, which are a melange of confusion, alarm, and...Nishinoya’s gut clenches. 

Fear.

“What’d you mean?” Ryuu says, his voice quiet before he approaches him. “What’s going on?”

 _“When I stared at Chikara’s dick,”_ Nishinoya bites out, his voice thin. “It was by accident.” The words seem to rattle Ryuu more, his body tensing. 

“Of course it was,” Ryuu says, voice gentle. “It’s alright. I don’t doubt you at all. You’re good.” Ryuu reaches out to put his hand in his. It is only then that Nishinoya realises he is trembling. 

Nishinoya stays silent for a moment. He can easily abandon the conversation here; it would be lost in the annals of time, as were most of their more emotionally-fraught conversations, which they preferred to push out of mind after they occurred. But if there is a path beyond this—this contemplation, this introspection, this goddamn teenage angst—it is here. He just has to trust himself enough to push through it.

“But is it really so bad?” Nishinoya says, his anger ebbing to reveal a hidden shoreline of insecurity. All the fight drains out of him. “To stare at a guy, I mean. What...what’s so wrong about it?” 

Ryuu’s eyes widen. He can see his brain turning. 

“Nothing,” Ryuu says. “Noya...”

“I...” Nishinoya inhales, the breath trembling, insufficient. He brings a hand to his eyes. “Ryuu, I’m...” It is only a second before Nishinoya feels arms envelop him, pulling him close. He shudders into Ryuu’s chest, clinging onto him. 

“Noya,” Ryuu says, his voice rough and pained. “Shit, Noya...”

“I’m sorry,” Nishinoya says. He bites his lip, before letting out a single sob. “Ryuu, I’m so sorry...I didn’t tell you...”

“Shush,” Ryuu says, and holds him tighter. His nose is buried in Nishinoya’s shoulder. “You don’t need to say you’re sorry.” 

“No, I...Ryuu, I _lied_ to you...”

“No, you didn’t,” Ryuu says, his tone breaching no argument. “You did nothing wrong, you hear me? Nothing.” Nishinoya wants to argue, or say he understands—say _anything_ —but he can’t. He’s not ready. But it’s alright, he realises: around Ryuu, he doesn’t need to be brave. 

They stay in this position for a while. Nishinoya cries himself dry against Ryuu, the shuddering breaths soon abating into calmer ones which better approach normalcy. Ryuu doesn’t loosen his hold once. 

Nishinoya runs a hand across his eyes and sniffles. Pushing himself from Ryuu, he turns from him to compose himself before he lets out a breath.

“Come on. Let’s round up the second years,” Nishinoya says, trying to smooth out his voice. “I can’t believe Chikara hasn’t come for our heads yet.” 

Ryuu breathes out a laugh. His eyes glitter in the moonlight. 

“Yeah,” Ryuu says, slightly subdued, before he turns to him. “I got this, Noya. You should go to sleep, and, uh...” A smile ghosts his face. “...Your face is all red and puffy from crying.” 

Nishinoya let out a humorless laugh. He forces his lips to curl into a smile. “Not my best look, huh.”

“Just want to preserve your dignity, dude,” Ryuu says, before he stutters. “Not that it would be compromised, of course, if the second years...”

“Yeah, I get it,” Nishinoya says. “I _am_ pretty tired, so. I’ll leave the rest to you.” He turns to head into the dorms, before he says: “Thank you, Ryuu. For...” He bites his lip, feeling a fresh batch of tears accumulate in his eyes. “...I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

Before Ryuu can respond, Nishinoya hurries out of ear shot. Climbing the stairs to the team’s room, it is a struggle to lift his feet high enough to reach each step. 

It is just as they had said: he is entirely spent.


	3. Terminal Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The design for Nishinoya's sisters come from the INCREDIBLE @bitchucat on Twitter, everyone check out their Twitter they are so talented and sweet!
> 
> In any case, I decided to upload this sooner versus later because I'm honestly going through a rough patch and writing this, while it is my one (1) escape from reality, is getting increasingly less fun. I'm worried about the quality of the writing, honestly, and while it's not abysmal it doesn't quite feel up to par with what I usually publish.

Nishinoya and Ryuu are lying shoulder to shoulder on Ryuu’s bed. Nishinoya is holding his phone—orange, scuffed at the edges—in his hands, thumbs resting on the buttons. 

Nishinoya has Asahi’s email address typed in. His hands falter for another moment, before he groans and pounds his head on the mattress. 

“This is impossible,” Nishinoya says to him. “What should I say?”

Ryuu hums and puts a hand to his chin in thought. “Well, bring up the time you kissed, say it led to your sexual awakening, see if he’s up for a date...”

“That’s it!” Nishinoya says. “We should meet up and discuss this in person. I’m not a good texter, in any case.” 

Ryuu huffs out a laugh. “So you realise this about yourself at last.”

“Hey Asahi-san,” Nishinoya says, articulating his message out loud as he types it. “Want to meet up soon?” 

“You need to add some fluff,” Ryuu chides. “As in, hey, what’s happening? Hope your applications to fashion school aren’t too stressful...”

“No, that’s dumb, I don’t care,” Nishinoya says, before he sends a suspicious glance to Ryuu. “Is that what you do in our emails?”

“No, dude, I don’t care enough to do that.” 

“Good,” Nishinoya says. “Alright. Well, I’m done. Should I send it?” 

“Seems ready to me.”

Nishinoya presses the send button. His chest clenches in suspense. 

“I wasn’t too much, was I?”

“Cool as a cucumber, my friend.”

“Good,” Nishinoya says, but can’t help the churning of his stomach. “Come on. Let’s play a video game.” 

_“Fuck yes,”_ Ryuu says, sprinting out of his room to the stairs. “I’ll set Street Fighter up on the television.” Nishinoya nods and collects his phone before he joins Ryuu on the first floor.

“So the zombies emerge,” Saeko says. She puts a canister of pretzels on the coffee table before ruffling Nishinoya’s hair. “What were you doing, all holed up in there?”

“Personal stuff,” Ryuu says, shooting her a warning glare. “Come on, Noya, let’s play.”

The game begins. Nishinoya can feel his entire body tense in excitement, his hands tightening on the controller as their characters appear on the screen.

His phone vibrates. 

“Hold on, pause,” Nishinoya says, opening his phone. As soon as he reads the message, he leaps onto his feet. “He wants to meet up in the morning!” 

“Hell yeah!” Ryuu says, roaring, before he hesitates. “What are you gonna say?” 

“Yes, of course,” Nishinoya says. “Does a morning run at seven sound fun to you?” 

“Not all of us are early birds, dumbass.” Ryuu pinches his arm. “Invite him for lunch at the school. Unless you want to catch him after practice...”

“Ugh, no,” Nishinoya says, his stomach churning at the thought of pursuing any serious social interaction in his grimy gym clothes. “Good idea about lunch. I’ll ask him.” He composes the email and sends it off. 

Asahi’s response is immediate. Nishinoya grins as his phone vibrates, snatching it into his hands.

“He says he’ll be there!” Nishinoya says, before he bumps Ryuu’s fist. 

He falls quiet. “Am I gonna look too casual in my practice gear?” 

“Uh, no?” Ryuu says, lingering on the words. “I mean, this isn’t a date, right, just, a—a—”

“No, not a date,” Nishinoya says, before forcing out a laugh. “I mean, he might not even be into me, maybe he just kisses random guys...”

“Let’s not consider that option,” Ryuu interrupts, his face flushing before it turns pensive. “It’s good for you guys to discuss what happened. Just to get it all out in the air.” 

Nishinoya nods, the weight of it sitting strangely in his chest. Their eagerness in cyberspace had yet to be replicated in the revelations of reality. 

Turning his attention to the screen, Nishinoya loses easily to Ryuu in their match. He can’t help it: he sees Asahi in each punch, each place where fist meets flesh. 

It is a small price to pay.

\---

The morning comes at last, practice passing easily before Nishinoya finds himself sitting on the steps of the gym, phone in hand. He taps his foot impatiently: he only has an hour, after all, until he must return to practice until the night. He doesn’t wasn’t to waste any time at all.

“Nishinoya!” 

Nishinoya turns his head to see Asahi approaching him. His hair falls loose against his shoulders, curling at the ends, and he’s wearing a tan, wool sweater. He has to remind himself to breathe for a moment as he absorbs the man in front of him, who, after shedding his practice gear, seems majestic and complicated and whole to a degree he hadn’t in high school.

“Hey, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya says. 

“Ah, no need for the honorifics. I’m not your upperclassman anymore,” Asahi says. “Asahi is fine.” 

Nishinoya’s grin widens. “Sounds good, Asahi. Ready for lunch? We could get some at the convenience store...”

“I made some myself, if that’s alright,” Asahi says, and digs in his tote to reveal a couple boxes, ribbons tied around their exterior. He offers one to Nishinoya, blushing a little as he does so. “Here. For you.”

“Thanks,” Nishinoya says. He stares at the box, lost for words. Some deep emotion surfaces in his chest, too large to name. Opening it, his eyes scan the food inside: some rice topped by sesame seeds, preserved radishes, and a couple beef cutlets. He then turns to Asahi, who is wringing his hands in suspense. 

“I love it, Asahi! Thank you,” he says. He points to the field of grass behind the gym. “Let’s eat there.”

“Sounds good,” Asahi says as Nishinoya leads him to the field. “Where is the rest of the team?”

“Eating some lunch on the bleachers,” Nishinoya says. “I just told Coach I’d be eating lunch out here.”

“I see.” Nishinoya grimaces, the stiltedness of the conversation jarring to him. He is unused to the calm he feels here: though it is perhaps better that their conversations aren’t so emotionally-charged anymore. They settle on top of a grassy slope and extend their legs. 

“So, a couple stuff we should address,” Nishinoya says. Asahi winces. 

“Yes,” Asahi says. His hands start to rip out some blades of grass.

“The night of your graduation party,” Nishinoya says, eyes still on Asahi though his friend refuses to meet them. “We...”

“I’m sorry,” Asahi says. His voice is high, desperate and incredibly effeminate, in Nishinoya’s opinion. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. That’s, uh...why you wanted to meet, right?” 

Nishinoya pauses, holding a fermented radish close to his lips. The gears in his brain start to turn. 

“...Yeah,” Nishinoya says. “I guess.” He pushes the radish through his lips and starts to crunch on it. 

Asahi peers at him, eyes assuming a calculating quality. “Was there something else?” His face is in the sunlight: face beaming orange, eyes illuminated. Nishinoya wants to hide his face in his hands: the moment is almost impossible to stand.

“I...” Nishinoya’s voice suddenly leaves him. While the words usually come out easily, for some reason these particular ones feel as if they should be chosen with care. Asahi waits for him, face losing some of its affected nonchalance to bear a poorly concealed tension. “I’m gay.” 

Asahi is silent for a moment, before he says, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says. “Is that the proper, um, nomenclature? I’m into guys, but I’m still into girls, I am pretty sure...”

“You’re bisexual, then?”

“What?”

“Bisexual?” Asahi pauses, before letting out a strained laugh. “It means you’re into guys and girls.” 

“Oh.” Nishinoya starts to eat the rice. His hands are trembling. “I guess so, then.” The silence continues.

“Nishinoya, I’m so sorry for coming onto you...”

“I started the kiss, it’s fine...”

“But you were delirious, and I’m an adult, and I was your upperclassmen...it’s my fault this happened...it’s alright for you to be angry at me...”

“I am angry,” Nishinoya says. Asahi flinches at his sharp tone. “I’m angry because I was delirious, and. And Asahi...” He inhales a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. “Asahi, I wanted it to be real.” 

Suddenly, Asahi meets his eyes. His expression is surprised, scared, hopeful—and Nishinoya permits him this one freedom.

“Do you...” 

“So, are _you_ into guys?” Nishinoya changes the subject. 

Asahi hesitates. He turns his eyes to the grass, his lips tightening. 

“Yeah,” Asahi says. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you.”

“Asahi, what? You’re under no obligation to tell me anything! It’s your business!”

“Still...”

“No apologies. I forbid it,” Nishinoya says, and glares at him. “Are you out to anyone else?”

“Yeah,” Asahi says. “My mom and older sister, and Daichi and Suga. Daichi and Suga were actually the first people I told.”

Nishinoya lets out a breath, surprised at the number of people whom he’d come out to: he’d had enough trouble telling Ryuu, and he is a much more courageous soul compared to Asahi. “I see.”

“And if you don’t mind, please don’t tell anyone,” Asahi says.

“I don’t mind at all. Same for me.”

“Of course.” 

Silence falls, and Nishinoya can’t help but feel as if the question on his mind is drifting out of his grasp. He peers at Asahi’s lunch; it is untouched.

“So, next question,” Nishinoya says. He is suddenly conscious of the deepness of his voice; the air against his practice shirt, its coldness, devoid of care; and the sting of his fingernails piercing his palms, an automatic punishment. “When you say you’re into guys, are you...maybe...” It sounds so stupid as he says it. “...Into me?” 

Asahi is still for a moment, before he nods his head. 

Nishinoya’s chest clenches. He digs his nails into the grass. 

“Can I kiss you?” Nishinoya breathes. 

Asahi’s eyes are glued to the ground, but a large, deep blush spreads across his face. “Yes. Uh...yeah, I’d love you to.” 

Nishinoya’s heart leaps, before his face brightens all at once. He grins and leans in. Carefully, as if touching a delicate leaf, or catching rain, Nishinoya cups Asahi’s face in his hands. Regards it for a moment, content in this exercise of earnest regard. He sees an expression which carries in it so much sincerity, he almost forgets why he’s here, what he came for. 

Nishinoya presses his lips against Asahi’s. 

It is deep and purposeful and unhurried, methodical to a degree Nishinoya hadn’t thought himself capable. It is confessional, saying what they can’t out loud: a reminder of the misunderstandings, the lost years of possibility. It confessed the frustration at their first kiss, which had been fleeting and unsatisfying, the desire to try again, to get it right—here, where there are second chances. Where there is no reason for anything to end. 

Nishinoya wants to cry, it is so perfect. It is as if some part of himself has been recovered, some smudge on his psyche rubbed clean. It is one of those moments where one feels as if they are in the right place at the right time, existing exactly as they should; and they desire nothing but to this let this moment run its course, undisturbed. 

He doesn’t cry. He deepens the kiss.

Putting his arms around Asahi, Nishinoya pushes his forehead against his and climbs onto his knees. Asahi lets out a startled noise but doesn’t reject him, instead placing his hands on Nishinoya’s waist. Nishinoya tingles at the touch and releases a shuddering breath. 

After a couple seconds, Nishinoya retreats onto the grass, breaths labored. He stares at his half-finished meal, grimacing: he doesn’t feel hungry anymore. He is already filled. 

Asahi laughs. The act has a strange, clenching effect on Nishinoya’s chest, one which he decides he should get used to for the foreseeable future. Glancing at Asahi, he is surprised to see the contentment, there: there is not a hint of tension.

“Thank you,” Asahi says. 

“Thank you,” Nishinoya corrects him. They stay silent for a while, still caught in the adrenaline of the moment, before Nishinoya sighs.

“I should return to practice before Coach starts looking for me,” he says. 

“Right.”

“I’ll see you around, though,” Nishinoya says. “You’ll call me, right? Or I’ll call you.” 

“Sounds good.”

“And...” Nishinoya hesitates, not sure if he wants to say what is on the tip of tongue. “...You can call me Yuu.” 

Asahi stares at him in surprise. 

Nishinoya laughs at his undisguised astonishment and punches him in the shoulder.

“It’s not such a big deal, dumbass,” he says, though he himself feels disoriented by the development. “I need to run. See you soon!” Before Asahi can respond, Nishinoya sprints to the gymnasium, smiling hard as he does so: the wind feels glorious against his face.

(Here, buoyed by his heightened emotions and racing into the future, it is the moment where Nishinoya is most vulnerable to a certain blindness in human beings: a fatal failure of appreciation. Saturated in love, he believes this moment to be eternal, though nothing lasts, in the end. Not even memories.) 

(If he had thought a little harder, perhaps he would stop, here, in the front of the gymnasium, and just appreciate all of it. But he hasn’t the foresight of the omniscient, or the wisdom of the damned. He hasn’t the maturity to see the temporariness his entire life is hinged upon.)

Nishinoya returns to the gym, his entire face beaming. 

\---

Nishinoya and Ryuu head out of the convenience store, meat buns procured. 

“I _hate_ playing practice matches against Seijoh,” Ryuu complains. His practice shirt is transparent from sweat, which reveals the contours of his chest. “Kyoutani is so intense.”

“He was also threatening you, too!” Nishinoya laughs, holding his stomach. “Man, he’s the best. I want to be his friend.”

“He seems pretty standoffish, though. You guys aren’t compatible at all.”

“I guess,” Nishinoya concedes. To be fair, though, the number of people to whom he feels he has a naturally rapport is limited. His stomach grumbles. 

“I’m so hungry,” Nishinoya says, turning his head to his friend. “What’s for dinner? Is it cool if I crash at yours tonight?” 

Ryuu tenses. “Oh, actually. I’m not free tonight.”

Nishinoya stops and stares at his friend in confusion. “What do you mean, you’re not free?”

“I mean I’m not eating dinner at home,” Ryuu says, and groans. “Sorry, dude. My sister’s around, though, if you still wanted to chill. I’ll be home around nine.”

While Nishinoya would not normally pass on the opportunity to see Ryuu’s sister, for some reason the sudden rejection grates at him. Nights after practice are times reserved either for heading home alone or casual team meetups, which he and Ryuu usually attended side by side. The thought of there being some part of his friend’s life which he cannot enter scares him. It is an experience he isn’t used to.

Nishinoya peers at his friend, examining him closely for any telling signs. “What are you doing?”

“Meeting a friend,” Ryuu says. Automatically, as if he’d had the response planned. Nishinoya grits his teeth.

“What friend?” 

“Someone from school. No one you know.”

“I see.” Nishinoya falls silent. While he doesn’t want to admit it, the revelation stings; he has become accustomed to the perfect alignment of their social circles. He has become accustomed to a near constant exposure to his friend’s life first-hand, where nothing can remain hidden, where all of it is cast into the indiscriminating light of transparence. 

Or perhaps Nishinoya simply doesn’t want to return home tonight. 

“Sorry, dude,” Ryuu says, guilt straining his features. “You can still crash, though.”

“No, it’s fine,” Nishinoya says, and it is—or at least it should be. “Mom has been complaining about me spending too much time out of the house, in any case.”

Nishinoya can feel Ryuu assessing him, attempting to evaluate him despite the night’s incurable obscurity. 

“If you change my mind, my house is open.”

“For sure.” Nishinoya turns onto his street. “This is me. Good night.”

“See you in the morning,” Ryuu replies, but Nishinoya has already left him. He doesn’t mean to be angry; and yet the whole situation has made him feel dependent and lame. He ruffles his hair and opens the gates to his house. 

\---

“I’m home!” Nishinoya calls, pushing off his shoes in the foyer before stepping into the house. 

“Hey, Yuu!” a voice calls. Nishinoya heads inside, where he finds his sister stretched out on the couch.

Mayumi has short hair, completely dark in color besides the blonde tendril of hair which falls near her left eye. She is reading a Murakami novel. 

“Hi, Mayumi,” Nishinoya says, sitting beside her in the easy chair. “Where’s Ume and Yasu?” 

“Ume is her in room, and Yasu is putting the finishing touches on her painting thesis. Dinner should be ready in a couple minutes, I’m letting the food cool off.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Curry.”

“Hell yeah,” Nishinoya says, and promptly closes his eyes. Mayumi hums her disapproval. 

“Please change out of your gym clothes if you’re going to sit on the furniture.”

Nishinoya groans and hops out of the chair, irritation flaring in his chest. The house feels emptier when his grandfather is not around. 

“What’s up, Yuu?” 

Nishinoya sees his sister Ume descending the stairs, leveling him under an unsmiling gaze. She is wearing a band t-shirt and ripped jeans, as well as studs in her ears. Blonde strands cut through the length of her hair. 

“Hey, Ume!” Nishinoya says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much.” The conversation ceases. Nishinoya starts to head to the dining room, before he hears the door of the room next to his open. A smile spreads on his face subconsciously, and he turns to the stairs. 

“Yuu, hey!” It is Yasu: the sister closest to his age, her hair is almost entirely blonde. She joins them on the first floor and puts an arm around Nishinoya’s shoulder. “Sorry for being holed up in there. College is impossible.”

“I’m so glad I got the hell out of there,” Ume concurs, before she turns to Mayumi. “Mayu, dinner.”

“Yes, yes,” Mayumi says, grumbling to herself as she stands up. “Once I’m married to Jiro, I won’t be able to prepare meals for you so much anymore.”

“Promise?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mayumi says to Ume, though an amused smile plays on her lips. “In any case, come on.”

They pile into the dining room, Nishinoya setting the table before they settle inside. 

“So, is the painting thesis panning out for you, Yasu?” Mayumi says, once they’re all seated. 

“It’s alright. I’m trying to accentuate the Rembrandt influence in my paintings a little more,” Yasu says. “My professor says I’m one of the best in my class, though. She might get me an internship at this museum in Sendai.”

“Holy shit, that’s huge,” Ume says, before Mayumi shushes her. 

“Not around Yuu,” she hisses. 

Nishinoya meets her eyes. “Guys, I’m not seven anymore. I don’t mind.”

Mayumi puts up her hands in innocence. “Sometimes I forget. But still, though, you’re in high school. A _child.”_

Nishinoya scoffs. While he is used to these off-handed comments, today he has much less patience than usual for them. He eats the rest of his food in three bites, finishing his soup before he collects his dishes.

“I’m heading to my room,” he says. “Good night.”

“It’s barely half past six. Don’t you want to toss a ball around outside?” 

“I’m pretty beat, so,” Nishinoya says. “I might bathe and then stay up for a couple hours before getting to bed. But I won’t leave my room, I’m guessing.”

“Alright, then. Good night,” Mayumi says, before she turns to Ume. “Ume, please stop glaring at him...”

He heads to the second floor, letting the resumed conversation function as white noise for his distracted thoughts. He often feels alienated from them, barred, perhaps, from the intimate bond the three of them seem to share. 

He bathes in record time before climbing into bed, pulling the comforter to cover him from head to toe. He curls into himself, fatigue easing his eyelids shut. 

_I NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS TOWN._

Nishinoya stills at the thought, feeling almost guilty for it. He and Ryuu had been planning their extended voyage around the globe since their second year, recording places they wanted to visit and sites they wanted to see. It is only on days such as these where he realises his need to escape: from this house, from Miyagi. Perhaps from Japan. He needs to journey to somewhere beyond; to find somewhere else to be from. 

Nishinoya falls asleep as these thoughts circle in his head, dreaming about all that he hasn’t yet experienced.


	4. Paradise Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there! Hope you enjoy this chapter--the Asahi and Nishinoya dialogue was a _little_ strained, not gonna lie. I'm not even sure I feel all that great about this chapter, in terms of characterization and writing quality. I'm also sorry that it is so short. I promise I'll get the word count up next time, and hopefully reteach myself how to write. I'll also probably decrease the number of chapters so that the pacing isn't so torturous. 
> 
> Well, this is the last chapter I currently have written. The next one is a WIP, but moving pretty pretty slowly. Things have been a little rough recently. However, I'm going to start working on it soon. Finishing what I start is really important to me.

Nishinoya puts some popsicles in the freezer. His eyes linger on them in longing before he turns to the boxes of rice cakes and pushes them onto the bottom shelf. 

“Don’t keep the freezers open for too long,” Ukai warns, a pen hanging from his lips as he peruses the morning paper. 

“Don’t worry about it, Coach!” Nishinoya says. “Right, Ryuu?”

“Right,” Ryuu says, focused on setting the apples in an appealing arrangement at the front. 

In order to finance their world expedition, he and Ryuu had are employed part-time at the the convenience store to rent an apartment in Chiba. So far, they had accumulated a substantial amount of money: enough to last them a month at least, although Nishinoya planned on finding a stint abroad before then. 

Recently, Ryuu has been distant: not conspicuously, of course, since Ryuu is by disposition warm and friendly, but Nishinoya has become adept at reading his friend’s subtler cues. 

“Hey,” Nishinoya says, using his foot to hit Ryuu lightly in the shin. “What’s up?”

“Ah, nothing much,” Ryuu says, lightening up as soon as he realises Nishinoya is examining him. “Just tired from practice, I guess.”

“Alright,” Nishinoya says, noting his elusion. He forces a grin onto his face. “Excited for our trip, though, right?”

Ryuu is silent for a moment, before he returns Nishinoya’s smile. “Yeah. Of course I’m excited!” Nishinoya’s grin widens, and he slaps Ryuu’s shoulder.

“Can you boys stop loudly dreaming about the future and focus, please?” comes their coach’s stern voice from the front, which causes them to wince.

“Yes, Coach,” they say in conjunction, in a glum voice. Ryuu falls silent, again. Usually they would be conversing the entire time, importuning Ukai to no end—but Ryuu does not seem inclined to speak to him, and Nishinoya wonders what this means. 

“Hey,” Nishinoya says, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re mad at me. Why?”

Ryuu turns to face him, eyes widening in confusion. Ukai groans from the front and grumbles about adolescent drama, which seemed to transpire at the most inopportune times. 

“Can’t you do this outside?” Ukai bites out, sounding supremely unamused. Nishinoya ignores him and fists his hands. Ryuu stares at him, expression exhibiting complete confusion.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, sounding out the words as he stares at his friend curiously. “Do I seem mad?” 

“A little,” Nishinoya admits. His voice softens, and he turns from him. “Never mind. I’m just being paranoid.”

Ryuu laughs at this. “You’re the least paranoid person to exist, man.”

“Well, clearly I’m seeing things that aren’t there,” Nishinoya grumbles, and slams the freezer door shut. 

“I won’t hesitate to fire you the next time you manhandle my freezers, Nishinoya,” Ukai says in a warning tone, before he turns from them. “Head home early, though, both of you. I want you at your best in the morning. Remember, the Fall Interhigh is next Saturday.” 

“Yes, Coach!” Nishinoya and Ryuu say, stepping out of their aprons and retrieving their gym duffels. Bidding their goodbyes, they leave the store and emerge into the cool night air. 

This is alright, Nishinoya decides, as he and Ryuu travel in relative silence to Ryuu’s home. Their bond runs deep. Though at times it is difficult to gage what is left when one discards the usual mischief and antics and encouragements at practice, Nishinoya is certain that there exists some deep, indestructible love at its core: a love which cannot be dismantled, not by either of them. Not alone. 

As Ryuu opens the gates to his house, Nishinoya sees the light in the kitchen, smells the ketchup from the omurice that is nearly ready for them, and realises, in one, wistful moment, that he is home.

\---

Nishinoya meets Asahi the day before the Fall Interhigh.  


“Asahi!” Nishinoya says, running to meet him at the entrance, hands raised above his head. Asahi is leaning against a wall listening to music when he meets his eyes.

“Hi, Yuu,” Asahi says, reciprocating Nishinoya’s eager embrace before letting himself be pulled into a fast kiss. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, practice ran late,” Nishinoya says. “I need to return to school in about forty minutes, by the way...maybe fifty, if I run...” 

“Forty minutes sounds great,” Asahi says, and offers Nishinoya a smile.“I guess Coach is running you guys to the ground, huh.”

 _“And_ Chikara,” Nishinoya says. “He barely let me come out here, today.”

“The mighty Nishinoya Yuu, commanded so easily by one of his teammates?” Asahi teases him as they head into the restaurant and settle into one of the booths. “I’m impressed.”

“Any amount of authority goes straight to Chikara’s head, so,” Nishinoya says, staring in bitterness at the table. “Hey, does this place offer orange juice?” 

“Let’s see,” Asahi says, peering at the menu for a minute before he sighs.  
“No, unfortunately. It seems they don’t cater for four year olds here.”

“Christ, where is this sass coming from?” Nishinoya complains, but smiles to himself. 

Asahi laughs. “Sorry. I guess I’m only this sarcastic around Daichi and Suga, and, ah—I guess I’m comfortable enough around you to assume that you won’t be offended.”

“I am _plenty_ offended, for your information,” Nishinoya says, glaring at him before he opens the menu. “Let’s just order a bunch of sushi. We should err on the cheaper side, though, because I’m trying to save some money.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Asahi says, before glancing at Nishinoya out of the corner of his eye. “Still planning that trip of yours?” 

“Yeah. Ryuu’s joining me. It’s going to be incredible.”

“I bet,” Asahi says, and falls silent. He seems as if he wants to say more, from the tension which has just drained into his face—but Nishinoya doesn’t press it, and instead decides to order for them at the counter.

“Question, Asahi,” Nishinoya says, carrying their tray of food to their table. “Why aren’t you in Tokyo?”

“Good question,” Asahi replies, dividing up their ginger as soon as Nishinoya returns to his seat. “Well, I tried out for fashion school, and...” He laughs humorlessly. “I didn’t get in.”

Nishinoya winces. “Sorry, Asahi.”

“It’s fine,” Asahi says, his voice suddenly lighter. “I did get into some, but not the ones I really wanted. And after discussing it for a while, Daichi and Suga convinced me that I should just hold out until the spring semester, and see if my chances are better then.

“I don’t entirely regret my decision,” Asahi continues. “It means I can see my friends more, and keep my mom company. My sister moved out several years ago, and I’m worried about her being lonely...” He trails off, before laughing again. “I’m sorry. This isn’t interesting.”

“No, it is!” Nishinoya reassures him. “I didn’t know you also had an older sister.”

“Also?” Asahi repeats, eyes widening in surprise. “You’re...a sibling?”

“You bet. Got three older sisters,” Nishinoya says, raising three fingers and grinning. “Twenty-eight, twenty-six and twenty-four.” 

“I didn’t know you had siblings...or parents, really,” Asahi notes. 

Nishinoya laughs in surprise. “Why on earth wouldn’t I?”

“Hmm.” Asahi muses, eating a piece of preserved ginger. “You just...don’t seem the type.” 

“All of us come from somewhere,” Nishinoya says. He looks into his Calpico can, squinting at the obscure liquid. “So, you’re staying here for the rest of the semester?”

“It seems so.”

Nishinoya grins. “Although I’m a little sad for your fashion career, I’m immensely happy for our dating life.”

Asahi coughs, gagging on a piece of salmon sushi. He struggles for a bit before managing to force it through his throat, breathing deeply after the ordeal has passed. Nishinoya stares at him, a bemused expression settling on his face.

“What?” he says. “We _are_ dating, right?”

Asahi stays silent for a moment, before he says, in a near whisper, “We’ve never discussed it.” 

“Well, I thought it was implied,” Nishinoya says, before he realises. “Wait. Are we not dating? Because I told Ryuu...”

“No, we are,” Asahi says hurriedly, before blushing. “If, um...if you want to, I mean...”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Nishinoya challenges, crossing his hands on his chest as if daring Asahi to oppose him. Asahi doesn’t, but another tense expression eclipses his face. 

Nishinoya groans, clenching his Calpico can. “What is it?” 

“It’s just...” Asahi says, in a voice he can barely hear. “You’re leaving.”

Nishinoya peers at him in confusion. “So? You’re also leaving, in the spring. I don’t see the issue.” 

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable dating long-distance...”

“That’s fine,” Nishinoya says. “I mean, Asahi...we’re just experimenting here, right? It’s too hard to try and control the future, so let’s just enjoy the present.”

“Do you mean put a time limit on this?” Asahi says, recoiling at the thought. “On us?” 

“Nothing lasts,” Nishinoya says, voice loud and firm. “All of it ends. So I’d much prefer it to be short than for it to get old and stale.”

Asahi considers this, before letting out a breath. “Do all relationships get boring, then?” 

“Not necessarily,” Nishinoya says. “I mean, Ryuu and I are going to be friends till the end, so. But romantic relationships...” He shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, doesn’t settling scare you?”

“I never thought of it as settling,” Asahi says. “Not if you love someone enough.”

“So you’re saying once you find the one, then that’s it?” Nishinoya demands. “Even if there are so many different types of romance to explore in the world, too many for one person to provide?” 

“I...” Asahi says. “...That doesn’t seem so terrible, to me. If it’s for the right person, I don’t mind missing out on things.

“For instance, aren’t we doing it right here? You’re choosing to spend time with me, instead of Tanaka or Hinata or some random stranger whom you found on the street. We lose time, but it isn’t so terrible...it isn't even lost.” 

Nishinoya wants to argue, but Asahi sounds so convinced as he says it that his voice dies out. 

“I guess,” Nishinoya says. No one presses the subject. “Are you coming to watch us play on Saturday?”

“Yeah, Daichi, Suga, and I are coming for the first day at least. Who is your first match against?” 

“Johzenji. Apparently they’re incredible this year,” Nishinoya says, eating a piece of inari sushi. 

“Sounds intense. Get victory for us, though,” Asahi says. “Speaking of the team, did you come out to anyone else?” 

“No, just Ryuu,” Nishinoya says. “I was considering telling my sisters, though. Yasu is bi, and Ume is lesbian, so I’m pretty sure they’d be cool. I might tell Ryuu’s sister, and perhaps Chikara and Suga-san at some point, too, but, uh, it might explain a little too much to them, just about...”

“I get it,” Asahi says, before he says, in a sly voice, “It’s not as if Suga hasn’t had his suspicions, after all.”

“W-what?” Nishinoya sputters. “When did he mention this to you?”

“By accident, really,” Asahi reassures him. “And he felt super terrible about it later. He just noticed your eyes lingering on him in the changing room, and brought it up to me absent-mindedly during practice. We didn’t discuss it much.” 

“I see,” Nishinoya says, feeling his ears heat up. 

“But you said your sisters are out to you?” Asahi prompts, redirecting the subject. 

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says. “I suppose that should be a boon to me, huh? In terms of figuring shit out.”

“No, I didn’t mean to imply...”

“I guess I just thought that sexuality was more fluid for girls than it was for guys,” Nishinoya says, tilting his head so he was staring directly into one of the restaurant’s lamps. It was faintly painful. “I thought that exploring it was a part of their world, not mine. I suppose I stand corrected.”

Asahi is silent for a moment, calculating, before he says, “Are you close to them?”

“Not really,” Nishinoya says. “I mean, they’re my sisters, so yeah. Of course. But they’re a lot older, and a lot closer in age, so I’m sort of the odd one out in most situations. They let me do what I want, for the most part.”

Asahi seems to ponder this for a while, eyes clouding. Nishinoya shifts in his seat.

“Are you close to your sister?”

“Yeah,” Asahi says. “She babies me a lot, though. She’s turning thirty this year.”

“That’s a huge age difference.”

“Yeah, but you find the beauty in it,” Asahi says. “She cares for me, and...there’s a kind of love in letting people care for you. She’s the type of person who needs to be caring for someone at all times, or else she can’t function.”

“Kind of similar to Chikara or Daichi-san, huh?” 

“Precisely. “

Asahi and Nishinoya return to school just in time for practice to resume. As soon as they reach campus grounds Nishinoya slips his hand out of Asahi’s.

“Want to say hi to the team?” Nishinoya turns to him.

“I’m alright.”

“Alright, then,” Nishinoya says, before he scans the campus to ensure that no one is in sight. Satisfied at the campus’s emptiness, he stands on his toes to press his lips against Asahi’s. He feels Asahi smile into the kiss and put his arms around his shoulders. 

“See you at the tournament, Asahi!” Nishinoya says, running a hand across his lips before changing into his practice shoes at the door. 

“Bye, Yuu,” Asahi says, before he turns and leaves campus.

Nishinoya watches him leave, heart impossibly full, before he steps into the gym.

\---

It is the second day of the Interhigh tournament.

They play against Date Tech in their last match of the day. 

“Aone-san, one more point!” Obara calls out. Aone tosses the ball into the air, watching it fall for a moment before he leaps into the air and slams his hand against it. 

“It’s mine!” Nishinoya says. He miscalculates the ball’s trajectory, cursing to himself as he sprints to the front, pushing himself to the floor as he reaches his hands under the ball. He grimaces as his sternum crashes onto the varnished wood, already tender from their match earlier that day. 

“Nice receive!” Kageyama says. Nishinoya scrambles onto his feet. He scans the court: while Ryuu and Shouyou are in the front, their arms already extending behind them as they prepare to jump, Nishinoya doesn’t miss Chikara approaching from behind, in the perfect place, no one could guess, no one— 

“Bring it to me!” Shouyou says. Nishinoya’s eyes shoot to his suspended form, set ablaze by the gymnasium lights. He then turns to Kageyama, to see if he would respond—and of course he does, because the choice is so easy—and Nishinoya races to guard Shouyou from behind, examining the tilt of his body—a cross shot, or straight, or— 

Shouyou hits the ball into a straight. It rebounds into their court immediately, slamming against Aone’s fingers before falling to the floor.

“Damn it!” Nishinoya says. He bends his legs to dive—one more time, just one more time—

As soon as he slams into the floor, pain seizes his knee. His vision turns white. 

_“Fuck!”_ Nishinoya cries out, curling into himself. His head feels hot and clouded, but the strange, light-headed feeling is barely detectable compared to the pain coursing through his right leg. “What the—holy shit—” 

If there is a hell, this has to be it, Nishinoya says to himself, in some deep, unaffected part of his brain which watches the scene from afar. This must be the end. 

He can hear distant voices, people calling his name as he struggles to control his too-fast breaths. They amplify his fear—frantic, confused, and muffled—and then they become louder, dousing his ears in their frigid alarm as hands start to touch him all over. He groans and hides his face behind his arms. 

“Nishinoya...” Chikara says from beside him, before his voice cuts out. “Oh, my god...the bone...” 

“Noya, holy shit...”

“Get Coach...”

Nishinoya can’t bring himself to respond. All his energy has suddenly seemed to drain out of him, replaced by a cold, dead feeling which coats his gut. Someone slips their hand into his. He returns the gesture on instinct. 

“Nishinoya,” Chikara says. It is all Nishinoya can do to meet his friend’s eyes. While there is still a clear edge of fear to them, they also gleam of a steady calm which Nishinoya clings onto. “You’re going to be alright.”

Nishinoya stares at him, for a moment, breaths labored and painful. White spots encroach on his vision once more. He sees the circle of people around him clear as someone crouches beside him, before passing out into a blissful slumber.


	5. Strained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! Took me a long time to write this chapter, considering that I took a couple weeks break. It honestly feels as if I'm writing seven different stories and Nishinoya as seven different people. Apologies if some are the inconsistencies are confusing. 
> 
> I don't like not finishing things, because I know that from a reader standpoint it can be frustrating. I'll try to update again sometime soon.

The white...the white unfurls itself across his vision. It is his life, returning to him in flashes. What Nishinoya can see is himself as a child, knees scuffed as he peers, blearily, at the shiba inu studying him from behind the fence. Then he is in third grade, hanging from the trees as he discovers a bird nest obscured by its steady branches. The moment after is his first day of middle school, and he receives a ball for the first time...a jumble of flailing limbs, but the action feels so perfect, so _right,_ that he spends the rest of the night practicing...and then it is his first day of high school, and he sees Ryuu for the first time in his classroom: a built first-year, who had bleached blonde hair and a goading expression. 

He’s running across the years, seeing all of it disappear in a tunnel of blinding light. And he sees himself right before the game, changing out of his orange uniform into his alternate, discarding the sweat-soaked garments into the laundry hamper, and the sun hits him, then, as if it won’t come again...

Nishinoya reaches out his hand, tries to grasp some of it, and then he opens his eyes.

He is in a hospital bed. From somewhere beside him he can hear the persistent beeping of an electronic machine, the only sound to interrupt the eerie, impenetrable silence which congests the room. 

When he attempts to resituate himself, he feels an intravenous cannula tug at his hand, constraining his movement. The needle disappears behind the sleeve of his hospital robe, which hangs off his shoulders in a loose, shapeless jumble of fabric. He groans, attempting to push himself into a seated position once more, but a sudden, aching pain pushes him deeper into the bed: heavy, oppressive, and soporific.

“You’re up.” 

Nishinoya twists, head spinning as he tries to locate the voice. Seated on the chair beside him is Ukai, a muted smile on his face.

“Uh, hi...” Nishinoya says, his scrambled brain failing to produce much else. He searches his memory for a reason for why he could be here, stopping at the last set of their Date Tech match. Shouyou had jumped, and then he’d...

“How are you feeling?” Ukai asks, and for the first time Nishinoya notices the conscious gentleness of his voice. For some reason, it rouses suspicion in his gut. 

“Fine,” Nishinoya shrugs, though this is a lie. He’s finding it hard to articulate much through the pain in his leg, which is getting sharper and more unbearable by the second. But he pushes the discomfort far from his mind, releasing a grating laugh.

“This...isn’t great, huh.”

Ukai returns the laugh, though it is just as empty as his. “No, not really.”

Suddenly the weight of it comes crashing through his fog. He sits up straight, eyes widening. 

“Wait, the game—”

“We lost,” Ukai interrupts, before the same strained, mysterious smile returns to his face. 

Nishinoya lets out a breath, his chest tightening. He remembers the muted ramblings from beside him, then, the fear in Shouyou’s voice. Even Chikara had been alarmed.

The first seeds of guilt settle into his stomach. 

“Fuck,” he says, burying his head in his hands and bringing one knee up to his chest. _“Fuck,_ I’m sorry...”

“Don’t apologize. It isn’t your fault,” Ukai reassures him. Nishinoya doesn’t respond, letting the tears drench his knuckles...before a next question appears in his mind, and he’s suddenly seized by dread.

“Hey...” Nishinoya starts, but his voice dies out. He can’t bring himself to ask the question, he realises. It’s as if, by suspending the words, he could suspend reality, too.

His entire body goes cold.

“There’s some stuff I need to discuss with you,” Ukai says, clearing his throat. “I thought it would be best if we did this in private.”

It explains why he’s the only one here, Nishinoya reasons. He had at least expected his mom or Mayumi to be around, coddling him in the overbearing, maternal manner they had held onto since his childhood.

He almost wishes there was someone else here, someone who could distract him from reality for a while. Because this isn’t real, after all. This can’t happen to him, of all people. 

But here it is, the same cold, hard feeling which he’d confronted the morning after kissing Asahi. The word _fate_ offers itself up to him, then. He can’t run from this, or hide, or repress it so it would disappear by itself. No matter what, reality would catch up to him. 

He wipes his eyes, and grimaces hard as he stares at the hospital sheets. 

“Nishinoya,” Ukai says, and his voice is so kind it’s unbearable. Nishinoya closes his eyes, waits for that one, fatal sentence to wrap its fingers around his throat.

Because, truly, he has been waiting for this from the start.

\---

Nishinoya opens his eyes as soon as the doorbell rings. He groans, retrieving his crutches from where they are leaning against the couch and using his good leg to stand. Bracing himself on the arm rest, he settles the crutches under his arm pits and hobbles to the door.

It has been a week since the accident. He’d stayed at the hospital for a couple nights before his parents brought him home, where’d he spent the rest of his adjournment from school sleeping fourteen hours a day from the pain meds and occasionally entertaining friends from school. 

Ryuu, in particular, had made it a point to stop by after practice, bringing a video game which they would play for all of thirty minutes before Nishinoya felt too tired. The change was hard to manage at first—from possessing the most stamina out of anyone on the team, he’d treated to the sudden torpor of his body as a betrayal—but Ryuu had accommodated him easily, instead regaling him about the team’s antics which Nishinoya laughed at until his chest ached.

“Yasu, can you get that?” Mayumi calls from the kitchen.

“Ugh, fine,” Yasu says, before shouting out a piercing “Coming!” to the door as she sprints into the foyer. Opening it, she lets out a pleased gasp. “Hi, Ryuu! Here to see Yuu?”

“You bet.”

“Well, come on in. We were just about to eat,” Yasu says, before she turns to the kitchen. “Mayu, set up another table mat! Ryuu’s here!”

“Hi, Ryuu!” Mayu calls out. “Settle in, don’t be shy!” 

“Hi, Mayu!” Ryuu says, voice tight, before he says, in an almost bashful tone: “Uh, where’s—”

“Morning,” Nishinoya says, appearing in the foyer. His voice is deep and gruff, though Ryuu doesn’t comment on this; his friend is probably used to his terseness, his loudness which comes from the tense, irascible disposition he has adopted since the accident.

Ryuu smiles at him and ruffles his hair. 

“Hey, there,” Ryuu says, affection flooding into his voice. “Ready for practice?”

“I guess,” Nishinoya says. He’d been stubborn, insisting that he still come to practice to help out, but the thought of seeing his teammates today still rouses feelings of bitterness and reluctance. While he was certain he could heal himself in due time, he still hated this feeling of forced staticity. 

“Why don’t you boys settle in the dining room?” Mayumi says, looking as if she wants to say more before she presses her lips in thought. “Yuu, want to eat in the living room, or—” 

“I can make it to the dining room,” Nishinoya says briskly, hopping inside. He grimaces as his cast hits the side of the table, pain shooting through it. His pain medication has yet to numb him at all. 

“Ryuu, what’s up? Sorry that I’ve been holed up in my room lately,” Yasu says, bringing her plate to sit beside him. “College is hell, and all that.”

“Oh, really? Still working on your thesis?”

“No. I finished yesterday!” Yasu says, preening as she waits for Ryuu to compliment her.

“That’s incredible! I’d love to see it, at some point,” Ryuu says, before he looks at Nishinoya. He smiles in response to his friend’s anxious glance.

“Are you sure you don’t want my sister to drive us?” Ryuu says, doubt coloring his voice.

“For the last time, yes. I’m sure.”

“Alright,” Ryuu says, and eats some rice as he falls into deep thought. Nishinoya rolls his eyes, before studying his friend.

He has an air of tiredness surrounding him, tightness hunching his shoulders and creasing his face. For a moment, Nishinoya has to remind himself that this hasn’t been easy on Ryuu either.

“Is Haru adjusting alright?” Nishinoya asks. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Ryuu says, rubbing at his face irritably. “Yeah, he’s...don’t worry. The team is fine. You trained him well.”

“Man, I’m sure he’s so excited to be a regular for the time being,” Nishinoya says, voice verging on brightness. He hopes its comforting at all to his friend, who has fallen silent at the mention of their first-year libero. 

“This is really good, Mayu-san,” Ryuu says, offering a stiff smile to Nishinoya’s older sister.

“Thanks, Ryuu-chan,” Mayumi chirps. “Say, are you boys going to be late?” Ryuu hums, peering at his watch before he winces visibly.

“Oh-oh shit, Noya, we need to go,” Ryuu says, eating as much as he can before he stands. “Ennoshita said it’s alright if we’re a little late, but it’s ten-past-seven and...”

“You should be there,” Nishinoya finishes. “I mean, you’re the ace after all. No use practicing unless you’re there to complete the team.” Ryuu stills, mid-sentence, before he sighs in relief.

“Yeah, sorry. Wait, shit—” Ryuu pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want you to run...”

“You can go on ahead of me. I’ll get there by myself just fine.”

“I don’t feel good letting you go alone, Yuu...” Mayumi says.

“I’ll be _fine,”_ Yuu says, gritting his teeth as he glares at Mayumi. 

“No, no, she’s right...let me just text Ennoshita, tell him that I’ll stay after...” Ryuu types out a text in record time, pushing his phone into the pocket of his uniform as he lets out a sigh, the signs of stress still straining his expression. “You ready?” 

“Yeah. Push me my crutches?” Nishinoya asks conversationally, catching them easily as Ryuu tosses them to him. He pushes himself up. He feels his left leg strain a little as it supports his weight.

“Well, I’m off!” Nishinoya says. 

“Got your pain meds, Yuu? They’re going to wear off in three or four hours.”

“Yeah.”

“And come home right after school.”

 _“Alright,”_ Nishinoya snaps, bristling at her words. He hadn’t been this babied in years. “Bye for real this time. Don’t call.” He hobbles out of the room, hopping into the foyer as he pushes his left foot into his shoe. He can feel Ryuu’s eyes on him, studying him curiously.

“She doesn’t mean to be overbearing, you know,” Ryuu mutters. “I mean, all of us—”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Nishinoya says, slinging his messenger bag across his body. He calls out a final goodbye to his sisters before he leaves, stepping into the sultry June air.

He breathes it in. It’s the first time he’s been outside in a week, though it feels much longer than this: it feels as if the world has been remade again while he was confined indoors. He smiles before he can help himself, and slaps Ryuu’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go!” he says, and bounds off on his crutches.

He’d gotten the hang of it easily. Though it still meant he was noticeably less fast then he used to be—any attempt to run while using crutches had ended disastrously—it meant that he didn’t feel as terrible as he had in those first couple days, when the mere act of getting out of bed seemed nauseating and superfluous. He sighs in contentment, letting the sun bathe him in its light.

“You seem to be in a better mood,” Ryuu says, a fond smile playing at his lips as he compensates for Nishinoya’s stilted pace.

“Well, there’s no reason for me to be sad for too long,” Nishinoya replies. “Not if I want to recover in time for the Spring Interhigh.”

Ryuu is silent for a moment. “Uh huh.” 

“No use tossing Haru into the deep end too soon.”

Nishinoya chances a glance at Ryuu, trying to gage his expression. It has reassumed its strained tightness, a sudden darkness shining in his eyes. 

“Right,” Ryuu says. They fall into a tense silence: the first of its kind, Nishinoya realises. 

Nishinoya looks into the sun. It is easier, at least, than facing his friend.

Nishinoya remembers, then, what Ryuu had said to him when he’d first visited him, the second night at the hospital: I’m sorry. 

He wonders why he says it. It wasn’t his fault—just a horrible accident. He wonders why people claim blame for the tragic circumstances of those around them, as if this—the delineation of responsibility, the assignment of guilt—could be a refuge from the inherent arbitrariness of life. 

“Have you responded to Asahi’s texts yet?” Ryuu asks him. 

Nishinoya tenses, almost stumbling on his crutches. “No. Not yet.”

“It’s almost been a week. Daichi has been on my ass about sending him updates, and aren’t you, uh—” Ryuu doesn’t say the word. 

“I just need some space from him, is all,” Nishinoya says. Once he’d seen the onslaught of Asahi’s messages, Nishinoya had found the melange of dread and affection that Asahi inspired in him too confusing to handle amongst the rest of his issues, and readily pushed it into a deep recess of his mind. 

Some people said, ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ But this hasn’t been true of Asahi from the start. He is a constant force, almost parasitic in his ability to consume all of Nishinoya’s attention. And Nishinoya suddenly misses him. Deeply. His entire chest spasms from the pain—wired in love, reaching in love—and he suddenly finds it terribly unfair, that one person can change him so much. 

It is almost as if he doesn’t recognise himself. But this, in itself, is a feeling so familiar these days he doesn’t question it.

“I’ll text him tonight, promise,” Nishinoya says. 

“Good.”

And Tanaka falls silent, mission accomplished. His care is almost touching, Nishinoya muses, but it burns him a little too. He feels guilty for holding so much of it in his hands. 

\---

Nishinoya falls onto the bench, letting out a frustrated groan. His leg has been aching since this morning, a dull, persistent pain which his medication hasn’t been able to abate to a satisfactory degree. In all honesty, he would much prefer to be spending the afternoon curled up in bed watching a Gintama episode, instead of outside, but— 

He sighs, digging his fists into his eyes. He should do this. 

“Yuu!” 

Nishinoya forces a smile onto his face, grinning wide and raising a hand. “Hey, Asahi!” Asahi is at the end of the street, in a loose shirt and jeans. He returns the smile, but his eyes...Nishinoya winces. They are pasted firmly on his face, decidedly ignoring his knee. 

Nishinoya’s temper flares, and he stifles it forcefully. He is acutely cognisant of his tendency to disgorge any and all opinions he has, a habit of his which had often made Asahi uncomfortable in the past. He bites his lip and drums his hands on the table. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Nishinoya says instead, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “You just got up, didn’t you? Really, Asahi, getting up past noon isn’t good. You should start your day earlier so you get more out of it.” 

“Not all of us can be early birds, Yuu,” Asahi quips, and Nishinoya grins and laughs loudly. As he settles next to him, Nishinoya notices that Asahi’s stubble is coming in much more profusely. He cups a hand around his face and leans in for a chaste kiss. 

“Man,” Nishinoya says once he pulls from him, letting his breath dust Asahi’s nose. “Didn’t realise I missed you so much.” His grin widens as a blush spreads on Asahi’s face, and he starts to sputter in the manner that Nishinoya used to find grating, but had come to relish. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Asahi says, and Nishinoya has to search his mind for a second before a sharp pounding in his knee tethers him to reality once more. 

“Oh, right,” Nishinoya says, and settles into his seat. He lets out an irritated sigh. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be completely healed come Nationals.” Annoyance simmers in his stomach at Asahi’s protracted silence. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Asahi says, before he rubs a hand on his face. “Just. Uh. Maybe I heard wrong, but Daichi...didn’t the doctors say you wouldn’t be able to play volleyball again?” 

“An over statement, really,” Nishinoya says, not meeting Asahi’s eyes as he laughs. “You don’t really believe that, do you, Asahi? Seriously, me? Defeated by a knee injury?” He continues to laugh.

“I’m just repeating what the doctors said,” Asahi replies, and Nishinoya wonders if he sounds a bit cold. He digs his fingers into his palms.

“Well, they don’t know me at all,” Nishinoya says, before he clears his throat. “In any case. Want to get some lunch?”

“Sure,” Asahi says. “There’s a street festival nearby. If you want I can get some food and—”

“Sounds great. Can’t wait to get some dango, haven’t had those in a while,” Nishinoya says, ignoring Asahi as he situates himself on his crutches. “Ready?” 

“I guess,” Asahi complies, and they depart. 

They proceed in silence for a while. Nishinoya spends the energy he usually spends conversing on deciding if the silence is comfortable or uncomfortable. It’s eerie, sometimes, the intensity at which his mind focuses on things. Once his brain has embedded its fangs into a particular train of thought, all else is a lost cause. 

Nishinoya clears his throat. “So, you’re still speaking to Daichi-san?” He tightens his grip on his crutches to restrain himself from punching himself in the face.

Asahi startles at the question. “Yeah, of course. Why, do we...” He laughs. “Do we not seem close?” 

“Oh, no,” Nishinoya says. “You and Suga-san and Daichi-san all definitely seem close. Best threesome around, that’s for sure.” As soon as he realises what he said, heat spreads on his face. _“Platonic_ threesome, I mean, just really good, uh, friends, don’t you agree?” 

Asahi softens a little, the frightened expression dissipating. “Oh...” he says, before he stares at the concrete. “Daichi and Suga, um...” He inhales a breath. “They’re dating.” 

Nishinoya nearly crashes into a bush. 

“Holy shit...” he says, and stops to stare at Asahi through wide-eyes. “You’re kidding me.”

“They said I could tell you,” Asahi replies. Nishinoya’s certain he’s wearing a dumb expression at the moment, but he can hardly care. The gears turn in his brain as he searches through his memory, scouring for signs. He remembers the time Daichi forgot his hat at home before morning practice, and Suga had been the one to dust the snow out of his hair. He remembers the fond look Daichi had fixed him in as he bowed his head, one of such helpless affection that it had made Nishinoya laugh, though he didn’t know why at the time. He had used the occasion to busy himself ribbing Tsukishima, rendered restless from the surprising display of intimacy. It felt too tender to stare at. 

He remembers the time he had remained late to clean the floors, and had entered the supply closet to deposit the mops. It had been dark and he had turned on the lights, and he could’ve sworn he caught hands leaving hips before Daichi and Suga emerged near the brooms to commend him for a good practice before abandoning the vicinity in a startling haste. It hadn’t seemed all too strange then, but revisiting those memories he could notice the blots of love smearing each moment, concealed, of course, but nonetheless there. He lets out a breath and glances at Asahi, who has an uncertain smile on his face. 

“That honestly clarifies a lot,” Nishinoya says, and resumes the journey on his crutches before his face brightens. 

“Hey, what if we’d been dating last year?”

Asahi laughs. “We had enough drama for the time being.”

“Well, the drama only happened because you were being a big wuss,” Nishinoya says loudly. He sees Asahi tense beside him.

“Agree to disagree,” Asahi replies, which puts a firm end to the conversation. Nishinoya glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Asahi tended to fall silent when Nishinoya mentioned the fight. 

Normally it doesn’t perturb him, but he has had little to occupy his brain for a while. And his usual tried and true method of emotional suppression, volleyball, is an option temporarily closed to him. Temporarily, he reminds himself, though his grimace deepens.

A sudden thought occurs to him, too profane to put words to. Someplace deep inside him, emerging out of a different dimension entirely. Unprecedented. He can hardly bear to articulate it to himself in his head.

 _What if,_ Nishinoya says, _what if Asahi and I are only together because we’re the only gay guys we know?_

 _No,_ Nishinoya chastises himself. _Asahi was your sexual awakening, wasn’t he? Without him you wouldn’t even be gay. I mean you would, but—goddamn it—_

 _This is why we never stay still long enough to brood about things, Yuu,_ Nishinoya reminds himself, regarding his excitable brain as one would a rampaging toddler (which he certainly wasn’t, no matter what Chikara told the team). Damn, he sure has had an...imagination, as of late. This is definitely one of those thoughts he can file in List of Incomprehensible Thoughts I Won’t Need to Confront Again, alongside his transient belief in reverse centaurs and similarly brief interest in bleaching his eyelashes blonde (a tryst cut all too short by Mayumi, who had since banned bleach from the house to forestall such unfortunate misjudgments). Turning to Asahi, Nishinoya bumps his shoulder against his in affection before they turn to the street fair.

The decision turns out to be poorly planned. Nishinoya keeps stumbling among the throng of people, muttering hasty apologies to the passerbys as he tries to condense himself. Asahi apologises double for the frequent accidents, appearing more and more uncomfortable as the minutes wear on. 

They abandon their mission after amassing a measly meal of grilled squid, corn on the cob, and dango. Nishinoya huffs as he fall onto the grass, tossing his crutches on the ground beside him. 

“This is the worst,” he complains, tugging at his bangs in frustration. It’s a ritual he’s had since he was a child, but since the accident the habit has worsened. He pulls it straight, straining the strands until his head pounds in protest. From beside him he can detect Asahi regarding him in silence, the same helpless, despondent expression on his face he’d noticed before. 

His eyes are marred by some emotion Nishinoya can’t discern; can’t or won’t, but doesn’t all the same. It’s too close to pity for comfort. 

“We’re in the middle of a conversation, you know,” Nishinoya bites out, voice venomous. “Can’t carry it by myself.” This causes Asahi to sit a little straighter. Nishinoya wonders if he should feel satisfied. 

“I’m sorry,” Asahi says. “I don’t, uh...” His voice is soft. Damn it. “I don’t know what you want from me, Yuu.”

Nishinoya glances at him in confusion, and then glares. “I want you to be yourself.” 

“I am, though,” Asahi says. “Or at least, I’m trying to be, but, um. You don’t seem happy.”

“Well I’m sorry I’m not ecstatic at the moment. There’s kind of a lot on my plate,” Nishinoya grumbles, and eats the three dango balls in one bite.

Asahi is a silent for a moment before he says, “That’s just it, though. You’re clearly not alright, but you want to pretend that it’s all fine. But, I—I can’t do that, it’s not who I am. It’s the reason I didn’t return to the team, the reason I evaded you after we kissed. You handle your issues differently to me, fine, but...” He inhales a deep, trembling breath. “I can’t not worry about you. I’m sorry.”

A fog clears from Nishinoya’s eyes.

“Hey...” Nishinoya says, before he shifts closer to Asahi. “Hey, listen...” He can see Asahi’s lip trembling, the tears already accumulating in his eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m the dumbass. You’re not at fault, you’re...” He laughs and brushes the hair from Asahi’s face. “You’re perfect.” He kisses him on the lips and puts a thumb against his temple. 

“Open your eyes,” Nishinoya instructs, and Asahi opens them. His eyes are clear; not a glittering blue, nor a singular green, not as bright as his nor as sharp as Ryuu’s, but a chocolate, unexceptional color, dim but definitely determined.

“I love you,” Nishinoya says. And it’s the first time he says it. A warm feeling spreads through his chest: from the realisation of it all, seeping into him as honey does into tea, or from the simple pleasure of saying what is true. Or perhaps its from the vindication he feels at crushing the last of his doubt in his hands, scattering the remains among the blades of grass. History kneels before him and the present, laid bare under his feet, is his country. His by right. 

“Eat your squid,” Asahi says, and his eyes are shining. 

\---

Nishinoya rests his head in his palm and drums his hand on the table. 

“Nakamura!” 

Haruto receives Shouyou’s serve cleanly. The ball arches up a little short for comfort, but Kageyama positions himself under the ball in a couple clipped steps and tosses it to the right. 

“Ennoshita-san!”

Chikara slams the ball into the opponent’s court, but the ball is then dug by Hisashi. Set by Tsukishima. Hit by Ryuu.

“Oh no you’re not,” Kazuhito says, jumping. He gets his fingers on it. Haruto lunges for the ball, and it’s clumsy, leading to a chance ball—Haruto has pitiful endurance, and while Nishinoya can impart on him his strategic wisdom, he can’t pass on his endless stamina—and Shouyou receives it, high enough for Tsukishima to hit the ball.

When the Coach sounds the whistle, the team lets out an exhausted synchronised gasp from the rally. 

“Alright, that’s it for the set. You’re switching sides after this,” Ukai says. “Get some water, all of you. Nakamura, you don’t look so good. Sit out for the time being.” 

Haruto nods mutely, falling onto the bench beside Nishinoya.

“You doing alright, bud?” Nishinoya says, hoping he sounds remotely sympathetic. 

“I’m dying out there, actually,” Haruto says, accepting the bottle Yachi offers him. He uncaps it and starts to chug. “I’m not made for this kind of physical labor.”

“Well, fear not. I’ll rescue you from the court in no time,” Nishinoya says, and grins as he points at himself. 

“Still hiding out in your castle in the air, huh?” Tsukishima says, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. 

“That little quip of yours gets funnier each time you say it, ” Nishinoya says, and flashes Tsukishima a warning grin. “Say it one more time and see what happens.”

Tsukishima stares at him for a moment before shrugging and turning from him to Yamaguchi.

“Noya, the hell!” Ryuu says, jogging to him. His face is coated in flushed. “The score’s all wrong! Why does this say 25-2?”

“Guess I forgot to update the scoreboard,” Nishinoya says. “Well, your side still lost, so.”

“Not by that much,” Ryuu says, his glare deepening before he lets out a breath. “Well, forget it. Just stop spacing out so much, alright? Or go chill on the bleachers and get Takeda-sensei to keep score.” 

“Alright, fine,” Nishinoya grumbles. Ryuu studies him for a moment. Once he determines Nishinoya’s pledge to be a sincere one, flashes him a thumbs up before returning the court. 

As soon as the game resumes, Nishinoya’s entire mind is focused on the court. The rest of his concerns flee his mind. Magic.

Ryuu serves, tossing the ball into the air before he leaps to slams his hand into it. Kageyama has to lunge for it. Chikara sends the ball to Kazuhito. Dug by Tsukishima. Set by Hisashi. Hit by Shouyou. 

The ball slams, hard, against Kageyama’s fingers, but it’s a smidge out of bounds. Hurtling. 

Toward him. 

Nishinoya stands from his seat. If he puts his right hand into his left, turns his body to the right—hips not too high, the area near his wrists aching to be bruised—he does, he is, he can—reaching, bending the knees—

Pain shoots through his right leg at once. Crying out in pain, Nishinoya falls onto the ground and puts his arms around his knee, as if shielding it from additional pain.

The team is by his side at once, calling out his name and much, much too close.

“Give him some space!” Ukai calls, before he settles by Nishinoya’s side. “Are you out of your mind? Why on earth did you receive that?” 

“Because I’m an—ugh,” Nishinoya says, feeling bile rise in his throat. The pain is so intense he can barely form syllables. He’s silent for a moment, letting his eyes remain closed for a couple more moments before he forces them open. “I’m a libero. Receiving balls is what I do.”

Ukai is silent for a moment, and Nishinoya wonders if he’s planning on continuing at all, before he says: “This is hard for you. I get that.”

Nishinoya feels his face burn, the heat momentarily more blinding than the pain in his leg. 

“But if you’re going to put yourself in danger, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Nishinoya raises his head, staring at Ukai through wide eyes. His face is pinched, uncomfortable—and Nishinoya is searching, searching for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty or regret but all he can find are the hard lines of resignation.

Nishinoya laughs. “No, you don’t get it. I need to be here, what about when the Spring Interhigh comes and the team needs me, I need to be sure I’m up to date on their abilities, I—”

“Stop.” Chikara approaches him. His eyes are smoldering. “You need to let it go, Nishinoya.”

Nishinoya’s heart clenches painfully. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says, and this time his voice is scratchy, scratched up and high-pitched and worn out. “I can’t keep letting you entertain these fantasies about returning to the team.”

“Shut up. You’re wrong.”

“What more can we say?” Chikara puts his palms across his eyes as he laughs. Suddenly, his defeated smile falls. “Prepare a ten-minute presentation from your x-rays, pointing out exactly why you can’t play? Get a presidential decree? Let you play for a grand total of thirty seconds just so you can see what an insane idea it is? I-I’m so tired and I get that you’re hurting, fine, but I can’t sit here and watch you spout nonsense about rejoining the team while the rest of us have already moved on.” 

Chikara’s expression softens at the last part, his words becoming more subdued. The team sits around them in a stunned silence.

Nishinoya glances at Ryuu. His friend doesn’t meet his eyes. 

“Fine,” Nishinoya says. He stands, ignoring the sharp pain flaring in his leg as he limps to the door. 

Stepping out into the bright sunlight, the rays almost stab through him. It’s a gorgeous day: the temperature is not too hot nor too cold, and the wind runs through his hair in random, playful gushes. 

Leaning against the school building, Nishinoya brings a hand to his eyes. Dry.


	6. Tough Enough

Nishinoya is facing the street, at the local cinema. It is noon and he has been circling Torono’s cramped metropolitan area for the past half hour. Asahi is late, not for the first time. 

Thrice he has passed the old man feeding the pigeons and thrice he has accepted free samples from the neighborhood’s donut shop. Sometimes people call out to him and wonder if he has lost his parents. Stepping out from under the trees into the hideous sunlight, Nishinoya continues his circling, circling…around the theater, the donut shop, the people…waiting for Asahi, remembering him.

Nishinoya remembers their last couple dates in painful detail, stilted and strange. Last time, he had brought Asahi to his house, where he had endured an interrogation conducted by his mother, one of the prefecture's most qualified therapists, and been eaten whole by his sisters, who had fallen for his doe eyes and surplus of manners as predicted. Though the night had been an indubitable success, after it Nishinoya had felt suffocated by a deep, penetrating unhappiness.

He feels the unhappiness here, rattling in his bones. After his banishment from practice, Nishinoya’s afternoons had been spent either at physical therapy or planning out the details of his trip. He clings onto the trip as if it is a rope. After his grudging abandonment of the team, the trip has become his last refuge, the one part of his life to remain undamaged, despite all of it. He finds himself reaching out to Ryuu on the phone more to ramble about the places they’d visit, but the calls lead to nothing. Ryuu has been busy as of late. Nishinoya doesn’t mention it, only sits a little closer during their nights spent in front of the fire. But there is nonetheless a profound distance here, one that lies at their feet and shares its secret smile. And Nishinoya doesn’t understand it. And he waits for it to pass. 

And it haunts each of Asahi’s kisses, chilling his lips. It surprises him in the rare moments he catches Shouyou in the halls, at a loss for words. It strangles him each time he runs his fingers on the scar on his right knee: tender and numb. A bruise which won’t fade.

For to remember the team is to also to remember the soft flesh of meat buns as he bit into them on the team’s runs to the convenience store after practice, is to remember the intoxicating burn of a bruise as he hurled himself at the ball. It is to remember Yasu encouraging him to try out the volleyball after his first day of middle school. It is to remember his mother’s lips. As she read his report card. As she sat in front of the principal and heard the word ‘suspension.’ Not her Yuu. As she turned to him, demanding _What do you plan to do with your life._ He could only stare at her, and remember his sister Mayumi’s grades on the fridge, the scholar of the family. Remember his father, fist raised and lips curled in a snarl, before the police came. No more. It is to remember meeting Asahi for the first time, and his life is a boat tethered to the shore. 

He is lost in these and so many ramblings before he notices Asahi calling out his name from across the street. 

“Wait a second, Asahi!” Nishinoya says, running to meet him. Asahi is the same as usual: exhausting, unutterably beautiful . Nishinoya hops on his left leg to kiss him. Asahi puts a hand on his shirt, keeping him at a distance. 

“Hey!” Nishinoya says. “I’m trying to kiss you.”

Asahi regards him through soft, sympathetic eyes, lips thinned as if to withhold. And perhaps the hand fisted into his shirt is the same hand clenching his stammering heart, telling it not stammer, not to ignite each time he feels Asahi near. Nishinoya’s perception on the court does not translate outside of it, he’s used to misreading people, to butting heads, to creating chasms he can’t seem to close. 

“I’m sorry,” Asahi says, gently, and lets Nishinoya kiss him. 

Asahi buys their lunch. Eating the dango, Nishinoya stares at Asahi through bright, copper eyes. 

“So, Asahi…” Nishinoya begins, a grin spreading across his face. “My family. Thoughts?” He is eager for the predictable comments: chaotic, loud, stilted. He remembers Asahi’s reluctance to meet them, a reluctance he still doesn’t quite understand.

“Oh, they’re nice,” Asahi says. “Your mom’s intimidating, though.” Nishinoya laughs out loud. 

“You’re telling me. She’s diagnosed me with six different mental disorders so far. And three childhood traumas I’m permanently crippled from.” 

“Sounds rough.”

“It’s not great, no.”

“Do you…” Asahi drops his eyes. The question seems to pain him. “What about you?” His hands are clutching at the grass, and he won’t let Nishinoya forget for a moment his chronic delicacy, his multitude of inadequacies, the same inadequacies that scar the recesses of Nishinoya’s brain. 

This fear.

“It’s all a bunch of bullshit to me,” Nishinoya replies. “Anxiety and depression, for instance. Some of the sadness all of us feel is just a part of existence. Just…being here, knowing that one day you won’t be.” 

Asahi meets his eyes, then, and for the first time they are almost as bright as his. “Does mortality scare you?” 

Nishinoya regards him for a while, and smiles after a silence. “Sometimes.” He leans in and kisses Asahi on the eyelids. “Not now.” 

Asahi stares at him out of the corner of his eyes, which seem a little guarded up close. “Why not?” 

Nishinoya cups his face, holding it as he would a handful of stars: transient, but he can’t bear to let go. What is Asahi and what are the stars? What are you? Reaching, he remembers the old fear. As soon as I hold you, you melt in my hands...

“Because there are more important things I don’t want to lose for the time being,” Nishinoya says. “You, for instance.” 

Asahi turns from him, then. And here it is, at his feet. Nishinoya holds his breath, notices the tortured glint in Asahi’s eyes. And he braces himself for what is to come.

\---

It is raining. Tanaka whistles an aimless tune as he meanders the Torono streets. He has forgotten his umbrella. The rain beats, bruises, blinds him.  
A tall man rushes past him, hands failing to shield his long, chocolate hair. Tanaka chuckles, before the man’s body is thrust into the harsh light of the street lamps. Tanaka’s eyes widen.

“Hey, Asahi,” Tanaka murmurs, before he calls: “Hey, Asahi-san! It’s me!” He corners him at the end of the road and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Asahi’s eyes meet his: sharp and scratched, bearing a dangerous shimmer. Tanaka has the sudden urge to demand what’s wrong, and an equal urge to leave, say nothing, abandon him.

“Christ, Asahi,” Tanaka says, instead. An empty laugh escapes his lips. “Are you, uh…”

“I’m alright,” Asahi reassures him, in a strange, strangled tone. But his eyes are red. Tanaka tightens his hold on Asahi’s shoulder, feeling the intense need to comfort him. 

“You don’t sound alright,” Tanaka says. Then: “Didn’t you see Noya today?” 

At the sound of his friend’s name, Asahi’s face falls apart. Tears stream from his eyes in large, viscous droplets, getting lost in his beard before dripping off his chin. 

“Hey,” Tanaka protests, his voice higher than it should be, before he clears his throat and says in a gentler tone: “Asahi, hey. It’s alright. Just tell me what happened.” 

Asahi remains silent, rubbing his hands across his tears. Tanaka taps his foot on the ground, impatient.

“At least tell me if you are alright,” Tanaka says, his voice rough but not unkind. 

“I’m alright,” Asahi repeats, and the words sound honest. “I’m heading to Suga’s house for the night. Don’t worry about me.” 

Tanaka studies him for a time, searching for clues in his troubled countenance. Suddenly Asahi turns to him, as if registering his presence for the first time. 

“What are you doing here?” Asahi seems agitated by him.

“I just wanted to stretch my legs.”

“At nine at night?”

“Practice was canceled today. I was feeling restless.”

“Oh.” And Asahi drops his eyes. “…Perhaps you should head home.” 

Tanaka startles at the mysterious statement. He wonders what happened to Asahi, and if it is related to Nishinoya. He opens his phone.

He is bombarded at once by ten missed calls from Nishinoya and one from Saeko, in addition to a curt message in which she ordered him to _come home as soon as you can._ His heart begins to hammer in his chest, and he raises his eyes to search for Asahi’s, which reject him as they bore into the asphalt. 

“I should go,” Tanaka says, his voice sounding incredibly distant as he sprints in the opposite direction of which he came. He doesn’t spare a thought to his shoes sullied in the puddles, or abandoning Asahi outside in the rain. 

His thoughts are focused on Nishinoya: the long, short, breadth, and deep of him. He assumes the worst. Nishinoya busted his leg while on the date. Or, perhaps…

Tanaka’s heart stills. What if Nishinoya had found out about him?

No, Tanaka denies the thought at once. Neither of us would tell anyone. Not yet.

Still, Tanaka’s hands tremble from guilt as he opens the door. 

“I’m home!” Tanaka shouts. “Noya-san! Noya, where—”

Tanaka finds Nishinoya curled up on the couch, nursing a hot chocolate. His face is bright from tears. 

“Noya,” Tanaka begins. 

“He left me,” Nishinoya says. Saeko runs a hand through Nishinoya’s hair to soothe him. “Ryuu, he…” He hiccups and scrubs at his face in frustration. 

Tanaka sits beside him, wondering if he should touch him. His open hand remains close to Nishinoya’s fist. 

“And he said it was because he’s starting fashion school soon, and he couldn’t handle a long distance relationship, but _I_ —it’s not about what _I_ want, is it? Not anymore,” Nishinoya laughs, a cold, bitter laugh. “And right after I had accepted all of it, too. I go to all my leg appointments, I exercise as much as I can. I rediscover my entire fuckin’ sexuality. But it’s not enough. I’m trapped. Sometimes I just wait for the world to say, _ha, just kidding. This has all been a test, and you aced it. But it doesn’t, and none of it.”_ His voice is so tight it burns in Tanaka’s throat. “None of it ever ends.”

Tanaka holds his breath as Nishinoya clears his throat, the monologue seeming to soothe some deep wound inside him. His face is less tortured, but Tanaka is not sure what emotion has come to replace the pain. 

He hears his sister mumble under her breath before she abandons them for her room. He almost reaches out her, pleads for her to stay: for he is not good at comfort. For all he has learned, he has learned from her. 

“Nishinoya,” Tanaka says at last, and brings him into his arms.

\---

Inside Ryuu’s arms is soft, comfortable, melting. Nishinoya lies limp in his hold.

 _Why are things most beautiful once they’re gone?_ Nishinoya wonders. Despite Nishinoya’s occasional doubts and frustrations, he had only come to appreciate the full beauty of his and Asahi’s relationship in the past couple hours. Love comes, comes, but it never comes the same. 

_Yuu, you fool,_ Nishinoya laments, _why didn’t you treat it as if it was the last time? God, if I could do it again…_ Nishinoya feels misery pound against his chest. _I would pay more attention. To all of it._

In particular, to the curls in Asahi’s hair. The thinning of his lips in introspection. In disagreement. The details he told him about his life, about his sister, about his fashion interests, about his secret fears about adult life. He would listen more. He would hold his hand in public. He would, for a moment, stand still, and lose himself in love.

“Man,” Ryuu whispers, his expression pinched. “You should call your mom. It’s late.”

Nishinoya is surprised at the words. “I did. I…I told her I’m sleeping here, if that’s alright.” He closes his eyes. He can feel his friend study him. 

“Yeah, that’s cool.” Nishinoya hears the hesitation in Ryuu’s voice, and he regrets his sudden monologue. He regrets coming here at all. 

“I’m sorry,” Nishinoya says, sincere. “Are you…”

“Shit, no, Noya, I’m not mad.” Ryuu says, as if he’d been expecting the question. “You’re going through a hard time. Never feel bad for needing help. Hell, I’m glad you came to me instead of bottling it up inside.” But there are words he is keeping behind his teeth. The same old secret. Most times, Nishinoya can stand it, but today it stabs him somewhere tender in his chest.

“I love you, dumbass. I really do.” 

“I love you, too. You’ll be alright,” Ryuu says, in an warm, encouraging voice. “You sound exhausted, though. I’ll set up the futon. You brush your teeth.” He is gone before Nishinoya can stop him. Nishinoya feels the chill on his forehead at once, at the place where it had been pressed against his friend’s chest. He puts a hand on the fading heat. He keeps it close.

After he brushes his teeth, he steals one of Ryuu’s old t-shirts and settles himself underneath the comforters of his futon. Ryuu comes in after ten minutes, dressed in his pajamas. He cuts the lights and climbs into bed. 

Soon, Nishinoya hears steady, deep breaths from beside him. He is washed in an unexpected fondness for his friend, and then overcome by fear. 

He is happy: happy to exist, happy that he can love a person so much. And he is also afraid for holding all of it so dear. 

“Ryuu,” Nishinoya whispers. He doesn’t respond. 

_Ryuu,_ Nishinoya says to himself, _there is something wonderful and impossibly sincere about you, and I could never reciprocate it. But still…_ Nishinoya feels his throat constrict. _Would you let me be a part of it for a little longer?_

Nishinoya closes his eyes and falls asleep.

\---

Nishinoya is clearing the yard. Autumn bites at his arms as he shapes the leaf pile he has amassed, a multicolored collection of orange and red and gold that trembles at his feet.

“Come on, Mom is almost home.” Yasu puts her hands on her hips. “She’ll want you free before Ryuu comes.” 

“Alright, alright,” Nishinoya grumbles, scraping the last of the debris into the pile. “This should be fine.” 

Birthdays aren’t celebrated much in the Nishinoya household: for four separate children, it simply wasn’t financially feasible to purchase elaborate presents for each one. But this did not stop them from being special: Mayumi would prepare dinner, and the rest would contribute their care and careless affection, exhibiting a gentleness seldom offered during the rest of the year. 

Nishinoya hurries inside, a grin tingling on his lips. Today he is eighteen years old—an adult at last—and this in itself is enough celebration, enough to be cheerful about. 

“I’m home!” Nishinoya Ayano says. Her sharp voice booms through the house. “Yuu, dear. Where are you?” 

“Here, Mom!” Nishinoya says, from his bedroom, where he has just changed into fresh clothes. The house is silent for a moment—she is slipping out of her high heels—before the door to his room is slid open. 

Nishinoya Ayano’s face is comprised of hard, uncompromising lines, but it softens for him as she approaches and tousles Nishinoya’s hair. He has inherited her candid disposition and her large, copper eyes. 

“Sorry, my session ran late,” she says. “I wanted to be home earlier. Did you and Yasu clear the yard?” 

“Yeah.”

“Are you alright, dear? You sound a little blue.”

“I’m not blue.” 

Nishinoya is motionless as she runs her finger on the jagged scar on his knee. The gesture is not sympathetic—the entire Nishinoya family blanches at the notion of pity—but it is instead neutral, regardful, silent. 

“That boy you brought home last Friday,” Ayano begins, rubbing the white, ruined patch of flesh. “He’s your friend?” 

Nishinoya startles at the mention of Asahi, who’d he’s tried to keep out of his mind. He endures her probing touch.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says. He wonders if the door to his room had been left ajar when he’d escaped there to kiss Asahi senseless. But what betrayed him, he suspects, is his eyes, his lips, which purse at lies, and his restless habits in the face of scrutiny He resents, for a moment, her career, her tendency to render him transparent. 

“I, um.” Nishinoya says, and tears smolder behind his eyes. He stiffens at the realisation that she has been massaging his secrets out of him. “I should tell you...”

Ayano is silent as she peers at her son, who is, in her mind, still a child, steeped in innocence. She wishes she could turn into a man for a couple minutes, find the words he needs to hear. Or to find out what he is feeling, at least. The silence roars around them.

There’s a tough vulnerability to Nishinoya’s eyes, shining as tears stand in them. The sun forms an aureole around his hair. 

“I was dating him, then,” Nishinoya says. “When he came for dinner. I didn’t tell you, because...” He rejects her searching eyes, hand curling on his leg. “...I was afraid of what you’d see in me.” 

Ayano regards him silence. Then, she offers kindly: “Sometimes, the surface is all there is.”

Nishinoya huffs out a laugh.“Isn’t that the truth.” He still seems distressed. “I just didn’t want you assuming that this was about Dad, or...”

“Of course not, honey.”

“I’m not tryin’ to run from my problems. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not running from them, but sometimes, I just...” Nishinoya struggles against himself. “Mom, don’t you—”

“All the time. I run from my problems all the time.”

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Ayano says, and pats his head. “Sometimes, it’s all you _can_ do.” And she remembers her ten years of marriage, where she’d slip into her side of the bed and hold her breath as her husband touched her. She would rub concealer across her bruises before she left their bedroom, stifling a moan as her children rammed into her stomach clamoring their good mornings. 

“But I’m glad you had the courage to tell me this,” Ayano says. “I’m glad we don’t need to be strangers.” She feels Nishinoya’s breath hitch for a moment. She strangles the moment soon after as she opens the door to his room. “What about you and I get our bicycles and ride around the neighborhood?” Nishinoya’s face lights up and he is by her side at once. 

“Let’s do it!” And he rushes past her into the hall. She regards his form—the muscles in his shoulders, the limp in his gait—but his head is held high, and she smiles, for he is standing upright at last.

\---

Nishinoya is situated on the plush, leather office chair at the computer, scrolling through bright, phosphorescent pictures of the apartment he and Ryuu are planning to rent after graduation. “I might call the Airbnb place this afternoon,” he says. “Just to finalise it before Monday.”  
Ryuu inhales a small, sharp breath from the seat beside him. He has been distant since Nishinoya came to his house, unannounced, earlier this afternoon to discuss their post-school plans.

“So soon?” 

“Well, what’s stopping us? Both of us want to do this, we made the money...” Nishinoya’s voice dies out as he notices the increasing discomfort in his friend’s features. “What’s wrong?”

An odd sensation bubbles in Nishinoya’s stomach at seeing Ryuu perspire, the signs of pain and reluctance becoming more and more pronounced in his face. Nishinoya feels that he is almost certain what his friend is going to tell him, then; it’s almost as if he’s heard it all before.

“Is it about the apartment?” Nishinoya presses, though he has already figured out that it isn’t. Again, he has the distinct feeling that this isn’t really happening to him, that these are his memories. 

“No, it’s not.” Ryuu clears his throat. “I mean, it is, but it’s about more than that. It’s about us. It’s about you and me.” 

Ryuu rose from his chair and started to pace. “The truth is...” He drops his eyes. “I’m staying here.” 

Nishinoya drops his eyes, too. For a moment, they can’t look at each other. Nishinoya wonders if they’ll ever be able to look at each other again.

“Is it because of—”

“No, Noya,” Ryuu says, before he laughs abruptly. “No, it’s not because of you. It’s...um.” He bites his lip, anxious tears brimming in his eyes. “I’m dating someone.” 

Nishinoya’s eyes widen at this. “Since when?”

“May.” _Half a year,_ Nishonoya’s mind immediately supplies. Some ugly emotion stirs in his chest, and he senses the disparity in their friendship more clearly than he’s ever been able to before. He suddenly wants to erase all of it: coming out to him, fleeing to his house after Asahi had left him. He wants to close the doors to his soul. 

He wonders when vulnerability had begun to feel so lonely. 

“Who?” Nishinoya breathes out, though he doesn’t particularly care. 

“She’s not just some girl, Noya,” Ryuu says in reproach, as if he can read Nishinoya’s thoughts. Hell, of course he can: Nishinoya has opened his mind to him so many times, there is not an obscure corner left. The lights are on. Each facet of himself screams. 

“She’s gentle, and strict...but also really funny. And she’s cute,” Ryuu’s expression changes, then, into an expression Nishinoya hasn’t seen on him before. It’s beaming in tenderness. “I love her face when she’s focused on a math problem. Or when she’s clipping up her hair in the morning, and she holds the bobby pins in her lips. And she touches me, man. She brings to life all those parts of me I didn’t realise I had.” He raises his eyes, then, to meet Nishinoya’s. “And I need to stay here, because there is so much I’m ignorant about, about love, and I want to find out about all of it.” 

Nishinoya turns from him, then, for he’s remembering Asahi. But he’s not remembering Asahi, not alone: he’s remembering Shouyou and him fishing in the pond behind the pool. He’s remembering Daichi’s hand in his hair after he had returned from the nurse from his concussion, leading him and the juniors to the rest in the stands before their next match. He’s remembering his mother’s hand on his knee.

And he’s remembering Ryuu most of all. Their friendship appears in front of his eyes, as if it was written, in gleaming letters, somewhere in the sky. 

“It’s Kiyoko,” Ryuu admits at last. Nishinoya tenses. He remembers those old days, when love had been an emotion to laugh about. It had been this laughter that had sprouted their friendship, which is all laughter, all dramatic camaraderie and words of affection too elaborate to be sincere.

But Nishinoya had meant all of it. He wanted, he realises, their friendship to be serious. He suddenly feels incredibly sober, and incredibly alone. 

The final loss.

Tears fall onto his hands, which are empty. Which he’s spent his entire life trying to fill. But they escape his grasp, each time. There is nothing to hold onto anymore. All of it fades. Or rots. Or falls to pieces.

“So it is just some girl,” Nishinoya says acidly, though the words aren’t sincere. Nishinoya has noticed, after all, what she means to him: he had noticed that his eyes used to linger on her figure during practice, caught in wonder. And he had noticed the tenderness in his voice when he mentioned her, sometimes under cover of darkness, sometimes in the harsh, embarrassing daylight. 

Perhaps Nishinoya had just been reluctant to accept that his friend was slipping from his grasp, inch by inch. Perhaps he’s terrified that he needs Ryuu, more than he’s needed anyone else in his life. 

Nishinoya Yuu had thought of his life as his to shape. But in reality, it was his life that had ended up shaping him. 

“Nishinoya, wait,” Ryuu says, as if he has already predicted what would come after. “We can—”

But he’s already gone.


	7. No Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! I told you I'd finish, hehe...things are just a ton, though. This is such a busy time for me in college. 
> 
> In any case, this chapter is not just for readers who wanted this to be finished, but also a love letter to my past self who would love if this fic had been written.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this through, and I hope you enjoyed it despite all its faults. All comments are appreciated, especially because they reassure me that my writing isn't terrible. BYE <3

Nishinoya stretches out his leg. 

The cold infiltrates his orifices, stings him to the core. It empties him, too: each facet of himself melts into the cruel-minded grass. But his face is still gummy from tears. He runs a hand across his eyes, collecting what had failed to fall, and curls into himself as he turned his eyes to the dried up lake in front of him. In his childhood, he had watched it shimmer under the sun, his bicycle leaning against a tree as he plunged his hands into the water in search of tadpoles. But it had gradually disappeared, so subtly he had missed it entirely; and, as he studies it, he wonders what it means to be erased so cleanly from the world. The notion feels profane. 

His anger, too, is beginning to feel foreign to him. He won’t be able to face Ryuu at school. They’d be alright, of course—Ryuu would launch into a profuse apology, which Nishinoya would rebuff at once—but it was the waiting that kills him, the sheer absence of motion in time’s strained, distorted body. It reminds him of the plastic Mayumi would stretch on top of leftovers from dinner, the material barely clinging to the edges of the plate. It would be a long time from here until morning. 

He opened his flip phone, peering at the time. 9:30. He’d been sitting out here for hours. He ignores the fact that Ryuu hasn’t tried to contact him, instead running through who’d be home tonight. Mayumi is at Jiro’s tonight, Yasu told him that she would be staying at a friend’s—so, just Ume and his mom, which would be too silent for comfort. And besides, he doesn’t wish to see them. He wants—Asahi. Or Chikara, who would reproach him for his conduct but nonetheless prepare him some hot chocolate and indulge him by watching his one of those action films that he despised. But the only person whom he really wants to see is Ryuu, who would cure him of his sadness immediately. 

But this option is lost to him. Disappeared, but still collecting dust. It’s the kind of absence that has a shape. 

Nishinoya dismisses his original idea of just sleeping on the ground as the temperature plunges, rendering him profoundly conscious of the fact that he is only wearing a t-shirt and shorts. He had completely forgotten his coat in the commotion. 

He considers calling Asahi for a moment, before— 

He digs into his pants, fingers reaching around spare coins and receipts until they close around a slip of paper. He pulls it out, flattening it against his palm. The kanji is smudged by time and age and inattention but, miraculously, still there. He struggles to get through the lump in his throat; he struggles to form thoughts—and he remembers what had been said so long ago, words that still gleamed underneath the debris of the present. A promise. 

_If you ever need a safe place to stay, or you don’t know where to turn..._

Standing, Nishinoya lets the words lead him home.

\---

Takeda is about to climb into bed when he hears the door.

“Coming!” he says, casting a last glance of longing at his copy of Yoshimoto’s _Kitchen_ before he treads to the door, his sleep-sedated brain wanly suggesting to him that house calls are incredibly rare at ten at night. But he opens the door all the same, running a hand to tame his unruly curls before laying eyes on his visitor. 

His stomach lurches.

“Nishinoya, what...”

“Can I stay here for the night?” Nishinoya says. He is trembling visibly, his body seeming much smaller in his t-shirt and shorts compared to his practice gear. His hair is unkempt, pushed up at strange angles. But his eyes are angry—and Takeda, acting on self-preservation, wants to shut the door, to keep this wild creature in the forest where it belongs.

“You...” Takeda struggles to find the words. He sees Nishinoya’s face change, too: from expectant to hesitant, the original openness receding into a colder, more detached emotion. Far away from him. A sudden panic stabs him in the chest, and he reaches out to touch his shoulder.

“Come inside,” he says, gently motioning Nishinoya through the door. He obliges more easily than Takeda expects him to, his gait noticeably unbalanced as he settles himself on the couch. His shoulders are tense, and his lips are set in a straight line. Again, Takeda is at a loss for what to say. 

“What—”

“Ryuu and I had a fight,” Nishinoya says. His words are said just as scathing as his eyes. “I...” He inhales unsteadily, the sound grating horribly at Takeda’s ears. “I know it’s not what you meant, when you told me to come here if I needed a safe place to say.” He doesn’t continue. Takeda perches himself on the edge of the couch, wanting to get closer, but not sure if he could. Not yet.

“What did you and Tanaka fight about?” Takeda replies. He pauses before he adds, “I’ve never heard of you guys fighting before.”

“It’s because we don’t,” Nishinoya says, running a hand through his hair. “This was different.” He doesn’t elaborate again, letting the angst hang in the air. Clog in their throats. It’s getting a little hard to breathe. While Nishinoya’s response seems superficial on the surface, Takeda can’t help but wonder if there is a deeper anger, there. He summons the courage to raise his eyes. 

“Different?” 

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says, biting out a laugh. “He and I were planning on exploring the world after graduation. I was so excited. But he just told me that he’s dating _Kiyoko_ and—”

“Wait, Shimizu? As in our former manager?”

“Don’t act so surprised! Ryuu’s a great guy, great enough to date an unattainable goddess such as Kiyoko-san! Um...” Nishinoya blushes at his sudden outburst. “Sorry. My mind is just really muddled, and I’m not...” He inhales again. “He said he can’t go on the trip. Which really...really messed me up, because...I thought that I could get through anything. But I guess I can only get through things if Ryuu’s there. Or maybe I only _want_ to get through things if he’s there. Without him, all of it just feels meaningless.

“Because I want Ryuu to be happy, but I also want...to see his face in the morning, when he’s still half asleep and I’m getting home from my morning run. I want to listen to him tell me about his day. I want someone to hold onto. And it hurts so much.”

He opens his mouth again, but closes it as he digs his fingers into the flesh near his wrist. Takeda watches him as he does so, finding it easier to see him, here. Where he wasn’t so bright.

“This has been a rough year for you, hasn’t it,” Takeda says. It’s not a particularly profound statement. But Nishinoya turns to him, eyes wide, as if stunned. The astonishment lasts for a couple minutes before his lip trembles. He says nothing for a while.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says, his voice gruff. “It really has.” The silence feels tangible as Nishinoya puts his face in his hands, steeping in its meaning.

“The truth is, Sensei...” Nishinoya says. “I don’t want to go on the trip. I don’t want to go anymore if he’s not there.” 

Takeda has the urge to comfort him, as one does on instinct to a small child. But Nishinoya isn’t a child anymore. And Takeda, for once, can’t bring himself to be hopeful.

Takeda sighed. “He’s made his choice, Nishinoya.”

“Yeah.”

Takeda peers at Nishinoya more closely, and for the first time realises the extent of his exhaustion. It is rooted in his features; it seems to penetrate the bone. He wonders what he needs at the moment: advice, or simply someone to listen.

“Why don’t you try college?” Takeda says, before he’s sure that he wants to. Nishinoya’s eyes shoot to meet his, betrayal flashing in them.

“That’s not funny, Sensei,” Nishinoya says, voice raising for a moment. “I need an _actual_...”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” Takeda says. “There’s still some time to submit an application. It’ll be tight, but...”

“You _know_ I won’t be able to get into college! You’ve seen my grades, they’re terrible!” Nishinoya says, this time seeming genuinely angry at him. 

“You’ve passed all your classes so far,” Takeda says, his voice becoming sterner. “Listen, you should at least try. You’re observant, able to adapt...you are endlessly passionate about the things that intrigue you...and you’re curious about the world. Exceptionally so. College would be a great place for you to flourish.” Nishinoya stares at him as if he’s gone mad, his expression souring more as he clenches his hands into fists. 

“And I would help you,” Takeda finishes, shifting to sit beside him on the couch. Nishinoya meets his eyes at this, and—this part is _unbearable_ —in the peace that spreads across his face, Takeda realises that Nishinoya trusts him. 

Nishinoya stares at him for a long moment, before nodding. 

“Alright,” Nishinoya says. Takeda has to wait a moment before his voice is steady enough to speak. 

“Alright what?” 

“Alright, I’ll do it,” Nishinoya says. Takeda lets out a sigh of relief, and before he realises it, he’s laughing. Nishinoya regards him strangely for a moment before a soft smile spreads across his face, too: fragile, and barely there, but real.

“I’ll get you a futon for the night,” Takeda says, a smile still on his face as he heads to the closet. But Nishinoya is already falling asleep on the couch, as if, after that simple interchange of words, he had been healed at last.

\---

Automatic.

Nishinoya types some words on the computer, entering some numbers into the spreadsheet. He glances at the time. Only an hour until he’s out of here. A grin bubbles in his chest but doesn’t reach his lips. He continues typing, the sound of keys interrupted only by the deadened mumbles of his colleagues.

As soon as it’s 5 pm, he jumps out of his seat and speeds to the train station. He is being compelled home by some pleasant thought—but what?—and doesn’t mind when he’s coerced into the middle of the train, unable to reach one of the poles as businessmen similar to himself press warmly against his body. As soon as it’s his stop, he hops off and heads to his apartment in Shibuya.

It’s not a large apartment by any standards, but its location and amenities are ones he could only dream of when he was a child. He opens the door, the smell of grilled eel cleansing him of his day’s cares. 

“Welcome home!” comes a deep voice from inside, and before Nishinoya can turn someone is kissing him from behind. He tingles, humming in contentment.

“What’s the special occasion?” he says, wandering into the kitchen. Asahi returns to the counter, where he resumes cutting radish. 

“Oh, nothing,” Asahi says, in that bashful tone that causes him to ache. (Why?) “Well, actually...” He brushes a strand of hair out of his face. “I’ll be in France for Valentine’s Day, so I wanted to celebrate beforehand.” 

Nishinoya feels oddly touched. “I feel bad. I didn’t do anything...” He studies the apartment, an uncomfortable feeling rising in his chest. Something’s not right. Before he can pursue the train of thought, Asahi is already burying him in more kisses. He cringes under the hotness of his lips. 

“You’re so distant today, Yuu. Bad day at the office?”

“Not really,” Nishinoya says. His eyes are still scanning the apartment, the disturbed feeling intensifying. “This apartment is strange, isn’t it?”

Asahi hums. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Nishinoya says, pacing around the room. “Something’s missing.”

“Why don’t you just settle on the couch and close your eyes for a minute, babe?” Asahi says. “You get more paranoid when you’re tired.”

“I’m not paranoid,” Nishinoya bites out, the passion of his voice surprising himself. It stings for a moment, before he breathes out and smiles. “You’re right. I’m going to go close my eyes for a bit.”

He reclines on the couch. A song he doesn’t recognise plays somewhere in the distance, floating around him. He lets himself get lost in it, before he feels a large hand lay in his hair. 

“Yuu.”

Nishinoya grunts in response, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Yuu, get out of those office clothes. They’re filthy.”

“I don’t care,” Nishinoya says. This doesn’t elicit the laugh from Asahi that he thought it would. “Hey, can you—can you spoon me?”

“Sure,” Asahi says. “You’ll need to scoot, though.” Nishinoya obliges, letting Asahi settle himself behind him before he loosens again in his hold. He feels at peace, here. No—disarmed.

He opens his eyes.

“Asahi...” Nishinoya says. And then he realises. 

“Where the hell are all the windows?” Nishinoya says, pressing his hands against Asahi’s chest in an attempt to push him off. But Asahi barely budges. Pinned to the couch. He struggles for a moment against his hold, but his efforts are unsuccessful. Craning his head as far as he can manage, he realises that he’d only gotten half of it: the apartment, in fact, was devoid of any objects that could capture reflection. 

A song he doesn’t recognise plays around him. He wades through its melody, his breaths lost in the serene tune. 

“What’re you going on about, Yuu?” Asahi says, who is, as predicted, right behind him. Nishinoya turns to face him. “Look at me.”

Asahi meets his eyes, and then, for the first time, Nishinoya sees himself.

His hair is flat against his face, his blonde tuft died to match the rest of his hair. There are lines, there—lines of stress and worry, of bosses to satisfy and marriages to attend and bills to pay—and his eyes no longer bear their usual luster. In fact, it is not just the weight of the emptiness which astonishes him, but its completeness.

Total annihilation.

“Who _am_ I?” Nishinoya says, more to himself than to Asahi. But Asahi recoils in uncertainty.

“Are you feeling alright, Yuu?” Asahi says. His voice is delicate.

“Why...why the hell am I in _office_ clothes?” Nishinoya says, his voice raising. “And more importantly, why are you here? And why am I an adult?” The questions burst out of him faster than he can process them. Asahi reaches out cajoling hands to him, but his face betrays his horror.

“Yuu, what are you saying?” he says. And his voice is so soft its unbearable. As if there is an ocean that stretches between them, and Nishinoya is just hearing his echoes. “This is your life.”

And then the song stops. And Nishinoya can’t breathe at all.

“No,” he says. “No.”

“Yuu...” Asahi says. “After all you went through to get your degree, why are you suddenly rejecting it? Why are you so unhappy?” 

“I need to get out of here,” Nishinoya says, and turns from him as he runs to the door. A fatal decision. Behind him, somewhere, Asahi turns into a pane of glass.

Stepping out into the open, Nishinoya is nearly hurled inside by the arid wind that circulates around him. In the span of a couple minutes, the city had turned into a desert. He coughs, pushing through the sands as he tries to find an escape from this world he’s found himself trapped in.

He runs until his legs ache, until he can’t feel his feet. The wind gets worse. The heat gets in his eyes, burning him from the inside. He hadn’t realised temperature could be tangible. He breathes out air, and becomes fire.

Suddenly he trips, body banging onto the floor. Despite all the sand, he can still feel blood seeping from his knees. He curses, trying to get up, before he realises that the sand has started to spiral into the ground.

“Damn it!” Nishinoya says, trying and failing to hold onto the ground. “Damn it...” He struggles for a bit more, before he sees a familiar silhouette in the distance.

He could cry.

“Ryuu...” Nishinoya says, body easing before he forces a burst of energy through it. “Hey, Ryuu!” He smiles in relief as his friend gets closer, presently discernible as he approaches him. Hair still cut close to his scalp, eyes at turn guarded and baffled and warm. He hasn’t changed at all. But he seems eerily calm, Nishinoya thought, for someone whose friend is in danger. 

“Hi, Noya,” Ryuu says, raising a hand in greeting. “What’s up?”

“Can you help me out of here? I’m kind of drowning, if you can’t tell,” Nishinoya says, trying to flash his usual grin before the sand redoubles its effort and consuming him. He feels himself fall deeper into the ground. He grits his teeth, panic rising in his chest. “Ryuu, please...”

“What do you want, again?” Ryuu says. “Sorry, the wind is pretty loud.”

“What do I...Ryuu, fuck, _help_ me,” Nishinoya says, no longer concealing his irritation. 

“Oh,” Ryuu says, and for a moment it seems as if he may understand. Then, he puts a hand to his chin. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? Ryuu, you—”

“What’s so bad, I mean,” Ryuu says. “About drowning.”

“Because it’s _dangerous,_ Ryuu! Existentially dangerous!”

“Sure, and?” Ryuu says. His face turns conspiratorial. “Want me to let you in on a little secret?” 

“Yeah, fine, _after_ you rescue me, just—”

Ryuu leans in close, until his voice touches Nishinoya’s nose. His eyes are shining and Nishinoya isn’t sure what emotion he discerns in them, only that he’s seen it before. “All of us are drowning, all the time.” 

These are the last words that Nishinoya hears before his head slips into the sand. And suddenly he is surrounded by so much light.

\---

Nishinoya gasps into consciousness.

His entire body is trembling, stomach unsettled as he rolls onto his side. He feels…tormented. As if this is not a bed but a base of vines. The music from the dream still plays in his head, holding, then, the sound of rain from outside, steady and troubled and beating itself into the grass. He pushes himself upright. Casting a long glance at the closed bedroom door, he tries to stand.

Opening the curtains, he stares as the rain shooting from the clouds. The world is emptying itself of all its meaning, emptying itself for him to be alone. 

He breathes in, feeling the singular sense of transience you feel when you’re pondering death. Or dying. And perhaps he is...dying, he means. Perhaps he has already disappeared from this world. 

_College? Yeah right,_ Nishinoya says. Mom would be thrilled. _But it’s not me._ The more he searches for himself, he less he can find. He needs to get out of here, before Takeda can reach him again, before he enrolls in college and gets his degree and becomes that person that he’d recognised in Asahi’s eyes, wearing office clothes and flat hair and that smile that smelled of submission. He headed to the door, opening and closing it silently before he starts to run.

It’s a terrible idea. His leg protests immediately, pain shooting through it as he barrels through the street. But he needs to get out of here. Mayumi would be home to prepare for her shift, she’d comfort him, she’d tell him all the right words and say that it would be fine. He just needs to get home. There, he can hide in his room, lie there until he feels himself again. And he’d be beholden to no one.

His pace diminishes as he continues, from a run to a trot to a lurching, stilted shuffle. His mom would be furious. But this thought barely crosses his mind when he realises, in a sudden, cold moment, that his legs won’t be able to carry him home.

He stares at the ground for a moment, breathing hard, before he lifts his eyes. And his entire body eases.

He had been unintentionally heading in the direction of school all this time. He sees the school building in the distance, adorned by the old, modest gyms and the club rooms on top the stairs. His chest unwinds. He opens the gate, eyes focused on the club room he hasn’t entered in months.

He glances at the time. 5:30 in the morning. People would be coming in an hour and a half. Perhaps they’d let him play this morning, just this once. He can still play beforehand regardless. He grins, heart pounding in his chest. It’s going to be alright. In a couple minutes, none of it would hurt.

First step. His leg aches in protest again.

Second. It nearly collapses beneath his weight. He grips the staircase handle more tightly.

Third. A feeling of bone deep weariness descends on him. He wants to push on, but he’s so, so tired. And the sunlight...

It is rising against him. He turns around, his legs finally collapsing. Shifting so that he’s outstretched on the stairs, he turns his eyes to see the first fingers of sun stretch into the world. 

At first, it’s painful. He grits his teeth, eyes sprouting tears. The sun beats onto his body, shedding light onto all the areas of himself he’d wanted to forget. It scorches the innocence out of him. 

And then the torture abates, gradually, its only remains a scar of memory. And then this fades, too. 

Here, Nishinoya lies. Framed by brilliance. The calmest he’s been in his life. He wonders what he’s witnessing in this moment. He groans, some deep, recessed part of his brain telling him to rise.

But he’s tired of controlling the world. Seeing the sun fall, illuminating all that it touches, he is warmed by a sense of eternity that extends beyond him. In fact, it might exist entirely out of his grasp. But it’s alright. Maybe...the world’s beauty can be enough. He doesn’t need to be a part of it. He breathes out, smiling as the sun spreads its cloth of brightness against his closed eyes.

The sun would finish rising soon, and the peace of the morning would be destroyed by the banter of students and the slam of balls on the court. He needs to escape before someone finds him. But, as he breathes deep into the morning, he doesn’t find himself minding. His time is short, but still—he feels such light.


End file.
